The Sense
by jane-valar
Summary: Some say it's a gift. She thinks it's a curse. Draco has an important piece of art that could help his ill mother. How far will he go to save her? More important what does Ginny have to do with it.
1. Daggers, Draco, and Colin Creevey

Disclaimer: Don't own a thing.   
  
  
  
Chapter I:   
  
  
  
The silver hilt of the dagger shined in the dust-filled rays of sunlight drifting through the one window in the small Ministry office.   
  
"Well Gin. It looks pretty dark and evil," said Colin Creevey, a mousy twenty-year-old photographer. He was shifting in his uncomfortable chair in-front of her desk.   
  
The scarlet haired girl lightly slid the mirror like blade across the palm of her hand. She felt nothing. Not cold, not empty, not pain. Nothing.   
  
"Well," Ginny Weasley sighed. "It's either a very nice, very expensive, very old, and _very_ rare piece of weaponry, that consequently was confiscated from a death eater or..." Ginny Weasley's voice trailed off as she gripped the hilt of the blade tighter. Her fingers clasped so firmly she might have been chocking it.   
  
"Or what?" squeaked Colin. His mouse like features filled with less than concern.   
  
"Or I've lost the only contribution I make to this Ministry," answered Ginny sitting down in her oversized and overstuffed red desk chair. It was old had holes and tears, but it was comfortable. Her father had given it to her from his office upstairs. It was more than comfortable, it was homelike and helped with her usual foul moods.   
  
"Ginny, please," begged Colin. His usual high-pitched voice, brought down an octave. "You feel so sorry for yourself all the time."   
  
He stood up to stretch his short legs and cast an occasional glance at the harmless artifacts overwhelming the tiny office. Ginny was one of three in her small department, and the Ministry had given them an even smaller office to work in. His dark brown eyes drifted back to her taking in her state. She looked so dampened, so worn thin.   
  
"I'm bored," he announced. "C'mon, let's go out for drinks. My treat."   
  
"Colin Alan Creevey, it's three-o'clock in the afternoon! Do you honestly believe that they would just let me leave in the middle of the day, because my puffy best friend decided he wants to get pissed?" Ginny asked through narrowed eyes.   
  
Colin looked unaffected by Ginny's outburst and stern look. His light brown hair was tucked securely behind his ears, and his slightly large front teeth were shown in his smile. The vest he wore was dark- olive in colour, with too many re-sewn pockets. It was faded, worn, torn, and patched up but like her chair it fit Colin. His inseparable black camera, slung freely from his neck.   
  
"Honestly?" Colin asked mockingly. "Yes, I do."   
  
"Don't make fun of me, Colin," she said her bright brown eyes falling back to the item she was holding. Her grip loosening as she carefully set it on her desk.   
  
"I've got enough to worry about. This is the second time I can't feel anything. Nothing." She sat back sighing a bit. "What if it happened? What if I lost it? Dumbledore said it could happen."   
  
"Listen Gin, you can't make yourself feel something that's not there," he broke in, his voice softened.   
  
"Like love, eh?" Ginny said. She smiled dully at him.   
  
"I guess," he answered slightly baffled at Ginny's question. "Anyway, if you have lost it then good." Ginny's eyes narrowed even further on his. Was Colin glad that she had lost her only use to the Ministry? Her only job. Her only means of support.   
  
"Don't look at me like that." He argued, as if he had read her thoughts. "What I mean is you can travel with me. Like an assistant or something." His voice took a conspiring tone, "We can get pissed and take advantage of pretty boys. In places like: Paris, Dublin, New York, Japan."   
  
"Milan?" Ginny asked dreamily, her chin falling to her folded hands on her dark desk. She had always wanted to visit Milan.   
  
"Yes, Milan," repeated Colin. "Buggar," he murmured to himself as his face fell.   
  
"What's wrong Creevey?" Ginny asked. Her voice speaking as if to a baby. Sitting back up she took hold of the dagger and turn it end over end in her hands. "Scared Gin-bug will take away all your adoring ickle fan-boys?"   
  
"That would never happen," Colin replied matter-of-factly. "No, I'm supposed to be in Milan, right now! Doing a reshoot for Gina. That's why I was here in the first place, to take a portkey."   
  
"Are you going to be home for dinner?" Ginny asked her voice holding no disappointment. She was used to Colin's business trips and was joyed at the prospect of having the flat to herself.   
  
"Probably not, love. Don't wait up either," Colin said. He picked his faux black leather camera bag from beside his chair and made his way around her dark pine desk. He kissed the mound of red waves that enveloped her before leaving the office.   
  
"Wouldn't dream of it," called Ginny as Colin exited her small relic filled office. Her eyes and concentration never wavering from the green gemmed knife.   
  
~*~*~*~   
  
Ginny stood staring at the dagger her pale hands wrapped gracefully around the hilt. Colin had left her office three hours ago and she desperately wanted to play with her new "toy". At least this toy didn't give her, cranial-splitting migraines, hypothermic shock, or unbearable waves of nausea. She swung it through the air, imitating an Amazon warrior she had seen in a book once. Scrapping her worn out white tennis shoes, across the floor less elegantly than the depicted war mistress. Ginny's long yellow skirt swishing as she ducked an imaginary Greek solider's sword.   
  
She had always found sword fighting on par with the ballet, less of a sport and more of a finely honed art. However, those were arts for the rich and being a Weasley you weren't given such luxuries. She stabbed into the air, as her foot contacted a slightly loose floor board. In the next instance, she was lying painfully on her back.   
  
"Well, have we been trainin?" A soft Celtic accent laughed from above her. "Ready to go to war, are we? Defen' the land of your people."   
  
"Seamus Finnigan have you forgotten how to knock?" her voice held a sliver of anger. She felt the all too familiar blush creep quickly into her cheeks, as she slowly stood up.   
  
"Sorry."   
  
"No, I'm sorry," she said regrettably and put the blade on her desk. "It's just you gave me a terrible fright." Ginny forced her eyes to meet his face and felt even more annoyance at the suppressed smile he wore."Is there anything I can do for you?"   
  
"Yes," answered Seamus. His crystal blue eyes following her progress to her seat. "Your brother ordered me to give you this." He handed her a letter. Percy's red seal burning on the colorless envelope. "And I was wondering if your not busy later." Seamus found his voice trailing off, as Ginny's eyes scanned over the letter. Her lips briefly parting as she pronounced each word silently. She always seemed a bit too intense when it came to the Ministry.   
  
"Oh, never mind," he said defeated.   
  
"What did you say?" Ginny looked up to an empty office and shook her head. Seamus was always disappearing. _'The boy was a bit of a mystery, really.'_ Ginny thought. _'A loud obnoxious mystery.'_   
  
However, her attention found the letter in her hands again.   
  
_To: Miss. V. Weasley   
  
From: Mr. P. Weasley   
  
Memo: I understand artifact: CT # 13075 has been in your possession for some time. I will need you to bring it to my office, as it is needed as evidence in the trial and prosecution of one Mr. N. Bates. If you would please come personally by my office, as we have other matters to discuss.   
  
Thank you,   
  
Mr. P. Weasley_   
  
Ginny groaned walking past her coworkers matching pine desks. She knew the catalogue number too well. The artifact in question had left her retching for a week after she had made bare skin contact. She lost five pounds in the process.   
  
From eyesight alone it looked like another beautiful necklace. The set sapphires, as clear and blue as her brother's eyes. The thin soft golden chain holding them, consistently shining.   
  
Underneath and undetected, simply touching the necklace could be fatal. Wearing it slowly and painfully, slowed your heart down, to it's last beat. Mr. Bates had been selling the item and it's brother made of rubies, in his shop for years. Stealing it back from his patron's after their untimely deaths.   
  
Ginny put on her required marigold yellow gloves. She was in no mood to experience the darkness that seemed to overwhelm her every time she touched an object that had been tainted by dark wizardry. After the diary incident in her first year she had developed a bit of a sixth sense, but in her fifth year she discovered she had the ability to actually _feel_ when dark magic had been applied to an object by simply making skin contact. In the worst cases she had to relive and share the feelings of it's last victim.   
  
She went to one of the four ceiling to floor wooden cabinets, used her wand and muttered the password. The large oak doors opened up. The necklace was sitting in it's glass case completely harmless, surrounded by other seemingly harmless objects.   
  
"Well, off you go," said Ginny pulling the glass container from it's home.   
  
~*~*~*~   
  
"Are you sure it's authentic?" asked a smooth drawling voice.   
  
"Yes, quite sure sir," replied, Mr. Roberts, the balding curator, who was studying the young pale haired man before him.   
  
"Quite sure isn't much of an answer. Now is it?" the young man countered. His corresponding pale eyes, dissecting the yellowed parchment.   
  
"Absolutely sure, Mr. Malfoy," answered Mr. Roberts with false confidence. He was giving his buyer a very coerced smile.   
  
"Well, Mr. Roberts. For your sake, I hope you're right," he said, his slender fingers touching the parchment's glass casing.   
  
"You could always have it looked over. That would be wise." He dusted the dark cherry lined frame with a white cotton handkerchief. They were in a special storage room, in a muggle museum. A sort of common ground for him and his pointy faced, steely-eyed patron.   
  
"Wise, indeed," the young man smirked. "Let us assume that I do purchase this map piece from you, Mr. Roberts." He straightened, smoothing the soft charcoal colored material of his suit coat. "I have it looked over but it's discovered to be a counterfeit, or worse spoiled by the touch of a dark wizard."   
  
Mr. Robert's jaw flinched involuntarily. He could feel sweat forming on his gray balding head and brow.   
  
"Mr. Roberts you wouldn't want to be selling me something like that. Now would you? My father would be very disappointed. The ministry would be outraged. I'd have no choice but to tell them exactly, where and who I bought it from."   
  
"Mr. Malfoy."   
  
"Mr. Roberts," he continued ignoring the older man. "You do know the ministry doesn't look kindly on the selling of artifacts. Especially artifacts from such a notable museum and being bartered from such a trusted curator."   
  
"Mr. Malfoy!" yelled Mr. Roberts. He was beginning to grow uneasy and impatient with their correspondence. "If you're implying something. I would really rather we have it out. This," he indicated to the framed objected. "Was from my father. The sole piece of my inheritance. Now my questions is: Are you interested? If not, I am sure I can take my piece of... art somewhere else. I have had a number of buyers lined up for weeks. Who would all be glad to take it off my hands." Mr. Roberts felt the cumulating beads of sweat run from his neck down his spine, at the young mans icy glare.   
  
He looked so much like his father at that age, if not better looking. The same grace in their step, the same porcelain skin, the same chilly demeanor. _'But that doesn't help Lucius now. Not where he is,'_ thought Mr. Roberts, bitterly.   
  
"No one likes a bad liar, Mr. Roberts. That's something my father taught me," said Draco Malfoy. He threw a heavy black bag at the man. It fell to the floor with the distinct clink of coins bounding off each other."I know you have no other buyers but I'm going buying it from you anyway."   
  
Mr. Roberts let out a breath that he hadn't known he was holding. He quickly snatched the velvet bag from the ground. Spilling the golden coins out onto the palm of his chubby hand.   
  
"Why?" he asked before berating himself for his curiosity.   
  
"I want it," Draco smirked picking the frame up from it place. "Nice doing business with you, Mr. Roberts. Trust me. I will have it looked over and come back to see how you're surviving without it."   
  
Mr. Roberts watched relieved, as the slender young man walked out of his museum. He swore to himself this was the last time he did business with the Malfoys.   
  
~*~*~*~   
  
"Percy, you can't be serious. I can't. I won't!" Ginny strained. Her voice coming back to her off her brother's office walls.   
  
"Yes, you will Virgina." He said rising from his seat using his full height as leverage in their upcoming row.   
  
"Virgina look," he stated looking at his sisters tensed face. Her round cheeks pink with anger, her arms crossed over her chest, and her deep brown eyes narrowed. "Do you like your department?"   
  
"Yes," she replied flatly.   
  
"And what is your department in desperate need of?"   
  
"Money," Ginny sighed. Her eyes looking down to the pale yellow skirt she was wearing. Percy knew Ginny was close to breaking when she broke eye-contact.   
  
"And what are the Malfoy's famous for?"   
  
"Being evil-cold-blooded-blonde-butt kissing-bigots, with You-Know-Who shoved up their ars..."   
  
"Ginny!" Percy cut her off. The impatience and anger apparent in his voice. "I want to work with him about as much as you do but we don't have a choice."   
  
"No!" yelled Ginny, pushing a finger into her chest. "I don't have a choice."   
  
"Then Malfoy, will be expecting you at half past two tomorrow evening." Percy smiled as he watched Ginny's face fall into defeat.   
  
Draco Malfoy had owled him early in the evening looking for a unique authenticator that only the Ministry held a department for and Ginny was the best at what her department did.   
  
Percy had long ago arranged a system. People from Ginny's and other unique departments would inspect someone's personal objects, outside of the usual loot from a deatheater raid, for a large fee.   
  
He looked to his youngest sibling and could feel her apprehension.   
  
"Look Gin," he said giving her as brotherly smile as he could muster. He slid his horn-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose. "He's willing to pay a lot and honestly your department could use the Galleons."   
  
"Fine," she sighed positively defeated. "Fine, I'll do it. But, you know just walking into that place, might kill me. I just want to make that clear."   
  
"You're so dramatic," said Percy, his brown eyes slitting, causing him to look oddly like their mother. "He'll be expecting you at half past two." He handed her another slip of paper, before sitting back into his shiny brown desk chair.   
  
"Instructions on how to get there," he explained. "Read them CAREFULLY and PAY attention, because you can't just apparate."   
  
"Half past two," echoed Ginny. She turned on her heel and stormed out of her older brother's office.   
  



	2. The First Visit

Ginny resisted the urge to run as she stood before of one of the oldest and richest family estates in all of Britain. It was tall, dark, gloomy, and more than a little trouble to locate. It wasn't a simple apparation.  
  
You had a choice to take a Ministry portkey or apparate to Malloy Square, a small town that was mostly made-up of the Manor's staff. Then a smooth twenty-minute buggy ride with one of the Manor's drivers, Mr. Hassleoff to the actual Manor. Now here she was standing in-front, of dark heavy double doors with an unnatural fear.  
  
"Please, it's just Malfoy," whispered Ginny to herself, pulling the gray rope to sound her arrival. "Just stuck-up ferret-faced, Malfoy."  
  
The door slowly opened and a rather oddly, but well dressed house-elf greeted her.  
  
"You's be the Weasey. Master's been waiting for?" He asked. His blue-eyes, tactlessly skimming her clothes. "Come in." He held the door even wider, as if Ginny hadn't gotten the hint the first time. "Me names' is Edmund. Can's Edmunds gets the lady's anything."  
  
"No, thank you." Ginny answered, feeling quite self-conscious.  
  
She was appalled by the elf's behavior and his unconventional name. She took off her green cloak, as the small elf scampered away, leaving her alone in the entrance hall.  
  
It wasn't the first time that she felt this small and insignificant. She felt this way a lot working at the Ministry. However this wasn't the Ministry, this was something much bigger, but the cold and un-welcoming feeling was still the same.  
  
There were closed doors on each side of the hall and a grand staircase stood in the center. Ginny silently wished the house-elf would return quickly so she could get this over with.  
  
"Ms. Whezzy, Masters will see you's now." He called from one of the rooms doorways.  
  
"Thank you." She called after, hurrying to the partially open door.  
  
She didn't fancy getting lost. In her third year, she had heard rumors that if you were to get lost in some manors, you would never be found. You would just disappear, not even your body would be discovered. Sure, it was immature to listen to such tales, but she wanted to stay safe.  
  
The room in question wasn't actually a room at all, but another long and dark hall. The candelabras' burning in the spacious nooks in the stone walls were casting an eerie golden glow as they passed. It was all making Ginny very nervous.  
  
She didn't like the dark very much. Her mother had told her once she had been a wonderful baby. Rarely scared of anything, a true Gryffindor. She even went to bed without a fairy-light before Charlie, and he was the bravest of all the Weasley's. Then it was her first year, and the nightmares began. Tom came and the fear of the dark swallowed her.  
  
Soon they had turned onto a hall with fewer doors. She assumed the rooms must be getting bigger, because they were spaced further apart.  
  
***  
  
Draco sat in his study, waiting for his authenticator to arrive.  
  
He knew she was a Weasley, the smallest and youngest to boot. The one with the unyielding crush on Potter. The one that opened the Chamber. The one living proof that sometimes even his father could be an untidy git. True, he had covered his tracks well but not well enough to prevent very unwanted attention.  
  
But Ginny Weasley was coming and there wasn't much he could do about it. Unfortunately, he needed her. She had the gift, an unnatural gift (even by a wizard's standards), a gift she was never supposed to receive. She had the capability to tell him, if he was right and he hoped he was. That the piece he bought was the real thing.  
  
He heard his office door open, and in walked a small red head a green cloak draped over her folded arms. She was shorter than average, an unmistakable trait inherited from her mother. Thin and round, disturbingly where she should be. The undeniable trademark Weasley tresses pulled into a sort of loose knot at the back of her head with curls randomly escaping and spilling out.  
  
She was wearing an unfashionable handmade cream sweater, and khaki dress trousers.  
  
Draco felt his mouth twitching at the sight before him.  
  
Well, well, the little Weasley's grown up.  
  
"Weasley." He drawled and slowly made his way around his large desk. He casually leaned against it waiting for Ginny to meet him.  
  
"Malfoy." She answered, a clearly forced smile on her face.  
  
***  
  
Ginny sat in an uncomfortable chair before Draco's desk. He was lounging lazily, his long charcoal trouser clad legs stretched from his seat to the empty top of his desk. His black shoes reflecting the candle light.  
  
They had done their uncomfortable, at least for her, greetings and inquiries. Mostly on her part and mostly about his mother. He kept his insults to himself and was oddly quiet.  
  
'Too quiet.' Ginny thought suspiciously quiet.  
  
Soon he had given her a piece of old, yellowed to the point of being considered brown, scroll but on closer examination Ginny saw it was a piece of something. A piece of a map. There were black lines and words in Latin, English, and a language she wasn't familiar with, drawn all over.  
  
She touched it and held it up to a candle's light, which didn't make the tall blonde very happy at all.  
  
"You could burn it, you silly cow!" He yelled. Snatching it away from her.  
  
"Like you could tell," contorted Ginny trying to snatch it back. She didn't know why but the piece intrigued her. "It's nearly black anyway."  
  
He reluctantly gave it back and three hours later they were still at the beginning.  
  
"Well is it or isn't it?" He asked impatiently.  
  
"Well is it or isn't it, what?" She replied. "It wasn't created with dark magic and hasn't led anyone astray or," Ginny's voice sounded very bored and recited. She had told this to so many people when they called upon the Ministry, but rarely was anything ever truly enchanted.  
  
"That's all you have to say," asked Draco. He pulled his feet from their home on his desk. "I pay you fifty-thousand galleons and you say it hasn't been touched by dark magic. That's it."  
  
"Fifty-thousand?" Ginny stammered. Percy had told her it was only twenty- five. She was going to have to deal with him later.  
  
"Yes, fifty-thousand." He answered. "Not so sure anymore though, not with such little and useless information."  
  
"Fifty-thousand?" She repeated, silently.  
  
"Merlin's beard, have you gone deaf or something?"  
  
Ginny just looked at him. Fifty-thousand galleons and he was going to take it away if she didn't say something.  
  
"I can have someone else. Someone much better than me look at it." She said very quickly standing up and handing the piece to Draco. "Someone very advanced in these...things."  
  
"Who?" Draco asked, sitting back in his chair. His gray eyes slitting with suspicion.  
  
"Hermione?" Ginny replied.  
  
"Granger? With MY map, I think not." He said. He was in the process of putting the map back in its case. A task he trusted no one, not even Edmund, to do.  
  
"You trusted me with it." Ginny declared. She knew she was begging, but she didn't care. Her department desperately needed that money. "I'll guard it with my life. I swear."  
  
"Now Weasley, that's just disgusting. I hate when people beg." He looked at her a smirk pulling at his thin lips. "Actually no I don't. Beg away, throw in some sexual favors while you're at it."  
  
Ginny felt her face blushing. Did he just say what she thought he said?  
  
Draco obviously noticed her lack of cheeky comeback and tinted cheeks. "Gods Weasley, you have the sense of humor of a Grim."  
  
"And you a hippogriff." Ginny smiled. She saw the highest point of his cheekbones barely tinting baby pink.  
  
"Oh yes, that one never get's old." He said flatly. He was handing her the frame now.  
  
"You're letting me take it?" She asked smiling.  
  
What had changed Malfoy's mind? Why was he letting her take it? Before she could blink, much less ask any questions, the fair boy had pulled his dark wand out. She felt her eyes widen as he muttered some spell and a light- blue spark drowned the room in blue.  
  
"What did you do?" She squeaked and felt her throat closing.  
  
"You said with your life. Am I correct?" He asked pulling Ginny up from her seat by her upper arm. She noticed Draco's grip was stronger than it looked.  
  
"Yes, but.."  
  
"But nothing. You're going to prove it. I'm letting you take it to the Ministry, your home, the shower if it's necessary," He paused to open the study's heavy door, "it can't be taken more than three meters away from you at any time."  
  
"So I can let Hermione see it?" She asked smiling. Her eyes moved down to where Draco was still holding her arm and then back up to his face.  
  
He was much taller than she remembered and his hair was much fairer, almost silver. Under different circumstances she would have loved to sit and study him for a little longer.  
  
Ginny wondered what he was thinking as he looked down at her, his gray eyes slit.  
  
"Yes," he said defeated. "But only if the mud-blood can keep her mouth shut?"  
  
He let go of her arm and shut his door.  
  
"Wait. I have more questions." Ginny said to the door. She knocked and there was no answer.  
  
"Draco." She pleaded in vain to the thick closed door. "Please, I need to know where it came from? Whom you bought it from?"  
  
"Hey," She heard a soft Scottish voice from behind her. "Aren't you Fred and George's little sister?"  
  
"Yes." Ginny replied. She turned on him her cheek's red and her brown eyes bright.  
  
Her jawed dropped a little at the burly man before her. His uncommonly short hair and his dark chocolate eyes not much different from the days she had watched him on the quidditch pitch.  
  
"Oliver Wood?" Ginny asked smiling. "It's me Ginny." "Well, you've grown. Las' time I saw you was at Fred's weddin." He said, smiling at her his teeth impressively still intact despite being a professional keeper.  
  
"Yeah." She smiled. "Umm, What are you doing here?"  
  
"Quidditch business. Me boss, needed someone to come and familiarize," He rolled his eyes, "ourselves with Malfoy. Seems he's startin some buisness with the team. Investin' or somethin' not real sure." He scratched the back of his dark head. "Eneway, found out I went to Hogwart's and sent me...You?"  
  
"Umm... Ministry business." She said flatly, looking at her watch.  
  
"Ginny, I shouldn't be too long. Would you like to ride back together?" He asked leaning into the door. His bright red cotton shirt complimenting his slightly darker complexion.  
  
"Sure." She smiled wider. "But if you're not down in half-an-hour. I'm leaving without you."  
  
"Deal."  
  
He walked through the door as Ginny started down the hall.  
  
***  
  
Ginny glanced at her watch it had been fifteen-minutes, when she heard the strangest string of words in her life. When the voice's body opened the door, Ginny was shocked. White hair and long legs stepped in and sat across from her.  
  
"Oliver Wood, stupid prat," He was seemingly going into another rant. "You buy the quidditch team with Flint's old rival, and somehow you're responsible for ruining their lives. Thick-headed, kilt-wearing, sorry excuse for a keeper..."  
  
Ginny cleared her throat.  
  
"What are you doing in my carriage?" He asked, his voice slightly edged.  
  
Ginny wanted to answer, but oddly her voice caught in her throat.  
  
"Decided to try the favors route then?" He asked, kicking the carriage door open."I'd usually be thrilled, but tonight I'm rather late for an appointment, so if you don't mind." He motioned with his hand to the door.  
  
"This is my carriage." Ginny retorted. How dare he try to claim it, she had been sitting in here for a quarter of an hour.  
  
"No it's not. It's mine." He said, quickly closing the door.  
  
"Is your name on it?" Ginny asked. Immediately she regretted her childish insult, of course his name was on it. He owned it.  
  
"As a matter of fact." He started, but stopped when he found himself falling into a childish squabble.  
  
"Fine," Ginny answered confidently, "I'll get Edmund to get me another one." She was reaching for the door and Draco stretched his leg out to block her.  
  
"Edmund?" He asked mockingly innocent. "Gotten familiar with the help, have you? Lot like that brother of your's Peter."  
  
"Percy." Ginny corrected. "What are you talking about?"  
  
"Forget, I said anything." He said. His face turned to the window.  
  
Ginny sighed frustrated. She looked out the window. They seemed to be already ten minutes into their ride. She had missed her ride with Wood, all because of Draco. Loathing that she hadn't felt in a long time, seemed to bubble with in her. Why did he have to be so annoying? Why did she have to work with him?  
  
"We're here." The driver announced and opened the door.  
  
Draco let Ginny get out first. She tightly wrapped her dark green cloak around her and the frame. Draco got out, straightened his black cloak and ran a hand through his pale hair.  
  
"Well Miss Weasley," he turned to her, "I think our working together will be very...interesting to say the least. I do hope you and Granger have it figured out, before noon on Friday." He turned on his heel and made his way down the dark street.  
  
"What's Friday?" Ginny called after him.  
  
He ignored her and turned into one of the many homes aligned on the small street.  
  
"This has been one of the strangest days of my life." She murmured to herself before she made her way to the portkey.  
  
Disclaimer: Don't own a thing. A/N: I know I hacked up the Scottish accent. I'm sorry. I'm not really sure how to write it. 


	3. Maps and Mudbloods

Hermione's office was spacious compared to Ginny's and most in the ministry. Orderly books, some not even held in the restricted section, filled the floor to ceiling shelves. Her multiple honors adorned the wall behind her desk, including the plaque for graduating top in her class. Scrolls, inkwells, half-scribbled parchment, and a mountain of books covered her desk. They obstructed Ginny's view, and the only reminder that the petite bookworm was even in her office was a mound of brown curls.  
  
Ginny had given her the frame half an hour ago. She had been expecting a simple appraisal, with the magical origin, magical value, and if possible a price estimate. Draco would have to be pleased with this information. He couldn't possibly take away her fifty-thousand galleons now. He had seemed so angry that she couldn't tell him more, disgusted that she couldn't do it herself, and put-off that she had asked for additional help. Ginny was hoping that her visit with Hermione could give her extra material, something to please the overgrown brat.  
  
Hermione was blatantly unimpressed at first sight. She'd carelessly rolled it over in her hands, deciphered the words in English, Latin, and recognized the last language as Italian. Her eyebrow's scrunched at some of the lettering. From the top corner to the placement of where it was ripped it read: To taste with touch. She'd read that somewhere before, but could neither remember when and where nor what it had meant.  
  
She had attempted to take it across the room, but the frame swung back nearly knocking her off her feet. She took the dark yellow cloth like parchment out of it's case, with the same results. She couldn't take it more than two or three meters away from the red head. Ginny explained that the reason she couldn't part from the frame was that Draco had bound her to it. Ginny had to take it when she slept, cooked, and even bathed. Hermione wasn't happy that Ginny was irresponsible enough to let Malfoy get so close to her with his wand, but she understood.  
  
She studied the piece some more and racked her brain for all her memory of maps. She remembered the Marauder's Map, and the Map of Guidance, which helped in the Goblin Rebellion. Then it fluttered through her mind like a blue-jay in a sand storm.  
  
It was a myth.  
  
It couldn't exist.  
  
Just like the Chamber of Secrets was a myth her mind countered.  
  
Hermione left the map fragment on the desk. She was quickly across the room, on one of the sturdy ladders that leaned in and hooked to her bookshelves. She nimbly made her way up, and used her arms to slide the ladder to the right. She used her wand to charm books on and off her desk.  
  
"Aha." She exclaimed pulling a large red leather bound book.  
  
She picked the piece of map up, it's unusual clothlike texture foreign to her fingers. She laid the red book on her desk.  
  
"Do you know what it is?" Ginny asked, her face unable to hide her emotions. The way Hermione's face was glowing with happiness, Ginny was sure that it must have been something big.  
  
"I'm not sure." Hermione answered. Her fingers were quickly fingering the pages. While her deep brown eyes were scanning them. Ginny often wondered when she saw Hermione like this if she was some sort of speed reader.  
  
"Well?" Ginny asked. She was beginning to grow impatient and her voice betrayed her.  
  
Hermione let out a soft hiss, and Ginny understood. She often did that when she was with Harry and Ron. A warning to be quiet, and let her work.  
  
After consulting her books, incoherent mutters, and a stretch of unbearable silence, she answered.  
  
"You have to test it," she smiled. She was holding the piece in her hand and walking towards Ginny.  
  
"I've already tested it." Ginny countered.  
  
"Not that kind of test. This a physical test. We must merely set it on fire, and all will be revealed. Quite simple, really."  
  
"Wait." Ginny snatched the cloth away from Hermione. "You're telling me, that I have to catch this very old, very expensive, very important, map on fire?"  
  
"Yes." Hermione answered her dark eyebrows knitting.  
  
"Are you crazy? Malfoy will kill me!"  
  
"No, he won't. If it burns then it's a fake and he spent a lot of money on a pretty piece of parchment." Hermione, seemed very pleased with herself.  
  
"And if it doesn't?" Ginny asked. She didn't understand what Hermione was saying.  
  
"Well then Malfoy, has purchased something rare indeed, something that could change the course of this war. It could even change the course of history.  
  
"Do you have any idea what this is Gin?" Ginny shook her head.  
  
"A myth, a legend, a fairytale..."  
  
"I get the point. How's a myth going to change the world?" Ginny interrupted. Hermione wasn't making sense, and it was actually starting to scare her.  
  
"I was getting to that." Hermione answered, annoyed by Ginny's interruption.  
  
"I read that it was said to be forged by four of the greatest wizards of the time.."  
  
"The Hogwarts four?" Ginny asked, excitement getting the better of her.  
  
"Well, yes." She answered slightly impressed. "How did you know?"  
  
"Oh please, Hermione. When anything's done in three's it's always you, Harry, and Ron. Anything done in fours is them." Ginny smiled at the blush that crept into Hermione's cheeks. "Anyway, what was it made for?"  
  
"They drew the map to find each other before they died. Remember, before Slytherin went mad, they were all very close." Hermione sighed, "Every generation has their Slytherin."  
  
"Their traitor." Ginny hissed. She hated remembering the treachery of some of her schoolmates, the way the war was slowly pulling everyone apart. The standard motto : Trust no one. Now, she was trusting the one person she shouldn't trust.  
  
"Yes, well, some say they died, others say they built a utopia, a paradise, a heaven. They would go their before they died, and basically live happily ever after."  
  
"How? Why?" Ginny broke in again.  
  
"Virginia Ann Weasley are you going to let me finish?" Ginny blushed at Hermione's outburst. Hermione rarely lost her temper and patience.  
  
"It's said to make every desire come true." Hermione said, a slight haughtiness to her as she spoke.  
  
"Why would Malfoy want it?" Ginny asked, her eagerness not letting her mind digest her thoughts. She was sure Hermione thought she was crazy, but the former Head Girl was carrying a candle to her.  
  
"Ginny, you can't be serious! Why wouldn't he want it?"  
  
"Well, why didn't I feel anything? I mean, if Slytherin had his hand in creating it." Ginny found it a little hard to believe that a piece of cloth could last that long, that any of this was really happening. Was Draco really trying to take over the world?  
  
It was Hermione's turn to interrupt. She explained to Ginny that Slytherin wasn't always dark. He slowly fell into it, and the founders had lived comfortably together for years. They had forged the map together, like they did the school, and then Slytherin turned. They divided their map. Each taking the piece they had given the most with creating, and spreading it in the four different corners of the world.  
  
The map was far from being whole. There were the three other pieces. Hermione wasn't sure who had contributed in the making of their piece, or where it was from. Though with a simple spell they could use their piece as a sort of magnet to the other pieces. When it was complete Harry could use it. That is if it was true.  
  
She held the candle to Ginny, waiting for the red head to make her decision. Ginny picked the piece up. The black writing and black lines contacting her skin. They were jagged and rough, unlike the smoothness of their canvas. She wondered what it was made out of. Some short haired animal. It would have to have been a very short haired animal. She looked at Hermione, holding her gaze as she brought it to the flame. It hissed as if it were a small animal but it didn't singe. It absorbed the heat and she let it drop. Amongst the black scrawl, certain red lines were glowing, as if steering them.  
  
"Merlin's beard, Ginny. We have to tell Fudge." Hermione cried.  
  
* * *  
  
She lay there, a light against the black silk sheets, her long honey wheat locks thinned and limp against her narrowed shoulders. He remembered twirling those locks as a child, calming him as he fell asleep. The strong and dainty arms that held him tightly fell weakly at her sides.  
  
She had grown so thin, barely a heap of covers where she lay motionless in the overpowering four-poster, a gentle rise and fall of thick black blankets, as she took shallow breaths.  
  
She lay there, the beautiful, obedient, and perfect wife of Lucius Malfoy. Her health deteriorating by the day. She was sick, very sick, unable to do the simplest task of feeding herself.  
  
He watched from his dark velvet chair, his fingers numbly tracing patterns on the smooth fabric. He watched the nurse in her white and blue apron mutter spells over his mother. He'd hired her a year ago, when he had discovered his mother unconscious, bleeding from the mouth, on the cold floor of her room, unknowingly the last time she would leave her bed without assistance.  
  
The doctor said it was unusual, undefinable, and un-treatable.  
  
They would do what they could, but the best they could do was to just make her comfortable, make the passing a little easier.  
  
It was the worst day of Draco's life. The pain, the guilt, the frustration, the emotions of helplessness coerced through him like the Hogwarts Express. He couldn't let his mother die. It wasn't right. It wasn't her time. He went as far as to invite a muggle doctor to care for her, but the outcome the same. There was nothing they could do.  
  
"Draco." She breathed. Her voice once so smooth, was brittle and hoarse. The nurse had left her, to gather much needed pain reliving and dreamless potions.  
  
"Yes Mother." He got up from his seat and went to her side. His long smooth fingers enclosing her fragile ones. He could feel the bones through her pale, transparent skin.  
  
She didn't answer. Draco knew she just needed his presence, someone strong to take care of her, someone like his father had been.  
  
"Mother, listen." He whispered, hoping that she could hear him. He bent a little closer to her ear. A comforting smell from childhood filled his nostrils. She smelled of jasmine.  
  
"Mother." He whispered again. "I have the map, and soon I WILL have your cure."  
  
Her answer was a small hitch in her breath. A sign, Draco imagined, that was good.  
  
"Mr. Malfoy?" a small ravenhaired boy whispered from the door. Draco kissed his mother's smooth hand and gently set it on the bed.  
  
Draco turned on the boy, as they stepped outside. His face emotionless, almost as if he were at a dinner party, and not at his dying mother's bedside.  
  
"What?" He hissed, smoothly. His face was passive, but his voice was harsh.  
  
"An owl brought this, sir." The gaunt boy was holding a white envelope on a silver platter.  
  
"I was holding court with my mother and did not want to be disturbed." His voice was even, but dripping in venom.  
  
"But Edmund insisted sir."  
  
"Did he?" Draco asked. A light blonde eyebrow arching. If Edmund insisted it must have been important.  
  
He quickly snatched it off the serving tray, and sneered at the young servant. He watched as the boy scurried through a service passage. Draco didn't understand his enjoyment from watching people cower. Especially black haired boys, green-eyed boys, or boys with glasses.  
  
He looked up and down the hall. Not a servant or house-elf in sight. He opened the letter slowly.  
  
It read:  
  
Malfoy,  
  
Little Red Riding Hood and The Mudblood went to Fat Arse.  
  
Smith  
  
Draco scoffed at the unoriginality in which his informant decided to code their correspondence.  
  
He wasn't surprised the Weasel betrayed him. He had been half expecting it. The girl was as cunning as a Hufflepuff. Did she actually think that she could delude him? Obviously the mudblood did. It had probably been her idea to go to Fudge.  
  
Draco was angry and satisfied as the oak door cracked. He was in his study. Not the office Ginny had gone earlier in the week, but in his study where he kept his concealed belongings. He needed the problem to be fixed. If Fudge got his greasy hands on Draco's map, Draco could never use it, he'd never find the island, and his mother would never be cured. He had to get the map back. He pulled his parchment and quill from his desk drawer. The scratch of quill against parchment was ringing in his ears.  
  
He read over it when he was finished.  
  
Smith,  
  
Take care of the Mudblood. I will take care of Red. DO NOT MESS UP.  
  
Malfoy  
  
It was short and to the point. He liked it. Now he needed to find the address of one Ms. Virginia Weasley.  
  
A/N: Okay, I know I promised to have more D/G action. I'm sorry, I couldn't deliver. Next chapter is full of those two crazy kids.  
  
Anyway, Thanks to Beccs, VirtualFaerie, Aemiliana, August (I hope you can read this one), ME, Elmoon87, and special thanks to my new BETA Lyss. 


	4. Missing Maps and Malfoy's Mother

Disclaimer: Don't own anything.  
  
A/N: Well I really wanted to re-write some of my scene's cause... well they just went to fast, so if you want to read into a little more depth of my characters. Re-read I guess. Well here goes.  
  
Chapter 4: Missing Maps and Malfoy's Mother  
  
Ginny woke up the linger of her own screams ringing in her ears. She had suffered another nightmare. Her knuckles were white where she gripped her yellow cotton sheets, her white night gown pasted to her body with cold sweat, and her breath coming quickly, as if she'd been running. The soothing pink light of morning was slipping through her daisy-patterned curtains, and she could make easily see as the shadows of night were slowly being chased away. This was her least favorite way to rouse.  
  
She felt something else beyond the cold shiver of her dark memories. She felt a loss, like something dear to her had been stolen. That is when reality set in. She rummaged through her sheets. It had to be there, it just had to be there. She felt another cold shiver run up her spine, unrelated to her night-terror. Draco Malfoy's map was gone. Ginny ruffled the cover's, in her panic, falling to the wood floor as she looked under the bed. Where was it?  
  
When Ginny had checked every corner of the house twice, the Friday morning sun was shining through all the windows in her and Colin's flat. She had lost it. She had lost Draco's Malfoy's map and he was going to kill her. Hermione was going to kill her too. "Hermione." She mumbled to herself. Hermione could fix this. Ginny ran to the phone in Colin's room. Colin insisted they own one, and insisted Ginny learn to use it. His mother didn't enjoy receiving owls everyday. She wasn't fond of birds.  
  
"Hello?" A deep and hoarse voice, Ginny recognized as Harry's asked.  
  
"I'm sorry to call so early, Harry, but.."Ginny was talking rather quickly in her panic.  
  
"Ginny." Harry interrupted. "Do you know how early it is?"  
  
Ginny looked at Colin's digital alarm clock. It read nine, zero, five. She didn't understand why Colin insisted they own so many muggle things.  
  
"Nine O'clock." Ginny answered before she realized it was rhetorical question. "Nine O'clock? Really." Harry asked again.  
  
"Look, Harry I don't have time for this." Ginny was growing impatient."Let me talk to Hermione."  
  
"Hold on." Harry yawned. Ginny could hear him yelling for Ron or Hermione.  
  
"This is Hermione." A high-pitched voice answered.  
  
"Ron!" Ginny yelled. "Put Hermione on the phone, damn it."  
  
"Fine." Ron whined. "God's when did Ginny lose her sense of humor."  
  
"This is the real Hermione." A chipper and more feminine voice answered.  
  
"Hermione, it's Ginny."  
  
"I gathered that much." Hermione interrupted. "What's your problem?"  
  
"Remember the map I brought you yesterday. Well, I woke up this morning and it's gone. I don't know what I'm happed or what I'm gonna do."  
  
"Calm down, Ginny." Hermione's voice was calm and a bit confused."Let's start over. What map are you talking about?"  
  
"Stop teasing me, Hermione. The map I brought you Wednesday. The map we brought to Fudge."  
  
"Ginny, what are you talking about? I haven't seen you since Saturday."  
  
"Yes you have!" Ginny was annoyed. Why was Hermione acting like she didn't know a thing it was as if she didn't remember?  
  
"Ginny are you sure it wasn't one of your dreams?" Hermione's voice was still calm and rational. She always spoke to Ginny like this.  
  
Ginny's Weasley temper was ready to explode when a letter and a flower was dropped on her lap. Colin was standing over her, the signs of a night drinking written all over his face.  
  
"Ginny?" Hermione's voice was slowly fading.  
  
"Roll over." Colin grumbled climbing over Ginny and into his bed, the stench of alcohol wafting off him.  
  
"What's this?" Ginny asked Colin holding the letter and the daisy.  
  
"I don't know. It was on your bed." Colin grumbled pulling the dark homemade quilt his mother gave him over his head.  
  
"Ginny?" A concerned voice on the other end asked again.  
  
Ginny wasn't listening. She opened the letter. It was expensive stationary, probably designed solely for the one family alone. It's distinct seal were two snakes coiling around each other at the top and bottom, seeming to endlessly swallow each other. The hand writing was neat. Ginny could tell, even though there were only two words.  
  
Nice try.  
  
She had seen the stationary and writing before. It was on a letter Percy had given her on an assignment. The guidelines to get to a manor. That stationary, that handwriting belonged to one person alone.  
  
"Ginny? Are you there?" Hermione's voice was bringing Ginny back. "Yes." Ginny answered.  
  
"Where'd you go? I was getting worried." Ginny could hear Hermione's sigh of relief. "I was about to send Harry and Ron over. I don't like you being alone."  
  
"That's not necessary. Colin's home." Ginny said flatly. "You were probably right. It probably was a dream. Sorry for bothering you."  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
"Yes, I'm fine." Ginny said desperately trying to get off the telephone.  
  
"Well," Hermione said defeated, "I think you need to see someone about those dreams, Ginny. I mean they keep getting worse."  
  
"I will." Ginny put the phone down, anger replacing her fear, questions drifting through her mind. How dare Malfoy break in her house? How had he found out? What had he done to Hermione?  
  
Ginny dressed carelessly in her anger. She searched the house for her shoes, all she could find were the knee length dragon-hide boots Charlie had given her on a visit to Romania. They were a size to small, but she didn't care. She slipped them on under her trousers.  
  
Malfoy had gone too far.  
  
~*~ *~ *~  
  
The red oak door to Draco's study hit the hinged wall with a crack. In walked the petite redhead he who had overrun his thoughts all morning.  
  
The night before, after much planning, he had apparated outside her flat, it being too risky to just apparate in. Foolishly the two occupants hadn't established any wards to keep even a muggle thief out. The flat wasn't big and he wandered it, arrogant in his stealth. He squinted in the dark, at the picture frame covered walls. Some pictures were muggle, he could tell as they did not move.  
  
Draco soundlessly made his way down the hall, trusting the shadows to conceal him. He always took comfort in the dark. Using the shadows as a blanket, as a shield.  
  
The doorknob to the first bedroom made a barely audible click as he opened the door. The dark colors of the curtains and empty bed signified it to be a boy's room. However, the posters of nearly nude wizards hanging from the walls confused Draco.  
  
He traveled further into the dark room and examined the contents of the boy's desk. There were two normal pictures: A picture of Weasley and a mousy haired boy. The mousy boy would kiss her on her smiling cheek, wave at the camera, then kiss her again. Disgusted Draco turned the frame over. The next picture was of the mousy boy and a clan of mousy people.  
  
"Creevey." Draco whispered into the dark with realization.  
  
He was in Creevey's room. His Sickle gray eyes wandered back to the posters with amusement. 'I knew that Potter boots licking-Won't shut the hell up- little rat was a puff.' He thought bitterly. Saddened that he could have used that information while still in school.  
  
Draco's smile faded as he pulled out his at the sound of a low feminine moan. He needed to get his map and he needed to leave.  
  
He swiftly crossed the hall to the second bedroom. The map lay at the end of her bed crumbled between her covers. He had taken it, when a blood- curdling cry pierced the still night air.  
  
Draco stood motionless, as the dreaded question swam through his head. Had she caught him?  
  
He turned around, wand out ready to face her but her eyes were shut tightly.  
  
She was having some form of nightmare.  
  
He stepped out into the hall ready to leave then, but she cried out again. For her mother this time.  
  
He hesitated and stepped back in. Her hands were clutching the yellow sheets of her bed. Her fiery locks clinging to her face with sweat the way her thin nightgown clung appealingly to her body. He wanted to leave, but she kept crying and Draco could not stand to hear a woman sobbing. It gave him headaches.  
  
He produced a flower from his wand quickly, took his pre-written letter from a pocket of his dark robes and left both on her bed. His wand and map in hand, he used a familiar charm to wake her up.  
  
The light pink spell shimmered as it made contact with his deranged version of Sleeping Beauty. He heard her scream as it gripped her subconscious, and hoped she didn't hear the familiar pop of someone disapparating.  
  
Now here she was but now she looked much more frightening then frightened. She wore a multicolored hand-knit sweater that bore a giant white G. Her untamed wild red hair was falling everywhere. Her deep brown eyes were narrowed, a look of utter determination on her face.  
  
"You took it!" She yelled. Her voice a little hoarse.  
  
"Took what Weasley?" Draco asked innocently. He was sitting behind his desk, his black leather shoes crossed on top of it. It was a comfortable position in his oversized leather chair.  
  
"You know what, Malfoy." Ginny replied. "Don't play dumb."  
  
"I don't seem to be the dumb one here, Ginny." Draco answered. He gracefully pulled his legs from his desk and made his way around. "I didn't barge into someone's house, into their private quarters and demand they give back something that wasn't mine to begin with. I didn't go to the Minister of Magic, after being told not too. Did I?" He was casually leaning back on his desk, his long legs stretched before him. His voice calm, but his eyes were narrowed.  
  
Ginny didn't reply, but she didn't cower. She wouldn't cower. This wasn't school. She wasn't going to cry at the drop of a hat or run away with embarrassment. She wasn't a little girl anymore, she was a twenty-one year old independent woman. Draco Malfoy was not going to terrorize her.  
  
"So you don't deny that you and the mud.." Draco caught himself, "that you and Granger went to Fudge."  
  
"No." Ginny sat down in the chair before Draco's desk.  
  
"Honesty." Draco scoffed pushing himself off the desk. "That must be new for a Weasley."  
  
"What would you know about it?" Ginny rebutted. She didn't understand why, but she felt a slight pang at his words. Even if he was Draco Malfoy she still felt guilty for lying to him.  
  
"Enough." He replied smugly.  
  
"You would know enough." She laughed. "Your father lied to the Ministry for more than a decade." She paused looking around the room, "And I haven't seen your mother around, lately. Have they come to their senses, finally thrown her into St. Mungos too?"  
  
Ginny knew she had said something wrong, something very wrong. Draco had rounded on her. His eyes narrowed, his hands falling and gripping the arm rests of her chair trapping Ginny.  
  
"Don't you EVER." He said through gritted teeth. His face lowered to mere inches from Ginny's. "Talk about my mother."  
  
"I'm sorry." Ginny squeaked. She didn't feel so brave anymore. She had never seen Draco lose his temper before, a rarity compared to Hermione.  
  
"That's obvious." Draco said, pushing off her chair, but never breaking eye contact, "I'd appreciate if you left, and mentioned this to no-one."  
  
"But.."  
  
"Don't worry." He spat, turning his back to her, "You'll get your money."  
  
The two sat in uncomfortable silence for what Ginny thought was eternity. A strange question surfaced in her mind. How had Draco turned this on her?  
  
She had come here angry with Draco. Her pureblood boiling inside her fair freckled skin with rage, but he turned he into the guilty party. He made her feel like a first year, again. When in Potions she'd added her porcupine quills before taking her cauldron off the fire. 'No.' Ginny thought. 'He was going to do no such thing.'  
  
"No." Ginny stood, feeling her Weasley temper restore her courage, "I won't go. It's time for you to answer some of my questions, then. Number one, what did you do to Hermione? Number two, what did you want with that map? Number three, what death-eater did you send into my house to steal it?"  
  
"Look Weasley, I don't have to answer one bloody question," Draco turned on her smoothly, but Ginny was out of her seat. Looking up at him with the same determination that she walked in with. Her hands gripping the collar of his black robes, pulling his face down to hers. Draco's expression didn't change, but his insides were reeling at Ginny's courage.  
  
The same girl that had been cringing before him minutes earlier was pulling his face to her level, aggressively. Later, when he turned it over in his mind, and his temper cooled, he had to admit it was very sexy.  
  
"No Draco." She said her teeth clenched, "Your going to answer every question I ask you, or I'll..." Ginny knew she was lying, but she hoped Draco wouldn't call her bluff.  
  
"You'll what?" Draco asked cooly, repressing a smirk. Ginny Weasley was a strange woman.  
  
"I'll tell everyone." She spat. "I know what that map is Draco. Fudge might not have believed me, but.." Ginny's brown eyes widened as she realized she had said too much.  
  
Draco smirked, grabbing Ginny's bare wrists and gently pulling them from his robes. She noticed for the second time how soft and warm Draco's hands were.  
  
"You want answers do you?" He asked, holding Ginny's slim wrists before him.  
  
"There is a Quidditch match Monday at noon. Puddlemere versus Chudley. You're coming with me."  
  
"What?" Ginny asked. She was trying to subtlety pull her wrists away from him, but his grip was too strong.  
  
"If you want answers you'll be there." He said, letting go. His gray eyes skimmed her clothes. "And wear something decent."  
  
Ginny looked down at herself. The first time she'd really looked at herself all day. Colin's jeans that were three times to big, an old Weasley sweater that was just as large, and Dragon hide leather boots. Unfortunately Draco was right, she looked horrible.  
  
"You can go now." He said, waving his hand like at teacher dismissing class, and turning his back to her for the second time.  
  
"Well, you better be there." Ginny said. She knew her voice wasn't menacing, but she hoped to intimidate him a little.  
  
"Oh I'll be there." Draco said snickering, squashing any hope Ginny had of Draco taking her seriously.  
  
To be continued: Quidditch, Dinner, and Let's Make a Deal.  
  
R/R 


	5. Quidditch and Dinner

Disclaimer: I don't own a thing.  
  
Chapter V: Quidditch, Dinner, and Let's Make a Deal  
  
Draco walked the long corridors of St. Mungos Hospital. The light green torch lights flickering in the pale blue walls. A guard was walking a few steps ahead and another a few steps behind him. They walked in silence, the only noise the click of Draco's black boots on the stone floor.  
  
He had come here every other Sunday since the year of his graduation. Every other Sunday since the dark lord fell, at the hands of Harry Potter. Every Sunday since his father had been incarcerated. Fudge had been arrogant enough in his ingnorance to sentence Lucius to St Mungo's other than Azkaban.  
  
'Stupid Fudge.' Draco thought. 'Stupid, Fat, Foolish, Too-short, bowler-hat wearing Fudge.'  
  
The guard, armed with his drawn wand, stopped at a stretch of gray bricked stone. The guard Draco knew as Michael from their brief meeting when Draco arrived. His head of light brown hair which was cut unfashionably short, fell a bit shorter than Draco himself. He taped his light against the stones in a pattern Draco had imprinted in his mind. Draco yawned with boredom as the dark-gray stones parted like the Red sea.  
  
The room was bright contrasting greatly to the dark of the hall. Draco stepped through. The room held a single white sheeted cot and sitting at the only table in the room was a man he didn't care to see. His long pale fingers clasped together and lay on the brown and beige chess board. White locks fell on his white uniformed shoulders.  
  
"Draco." He drawled, as unsurprised to see Draco, as Draco was to see him.  
  
"Good afternoon, Father."  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Ginny yawned stretching her freckled arms over her head. She was sitting in her dark office, the only light coming from the small window. She liked going to her office on Sundays. It meant no one would be there. No one to bother or berate her.  
  
She was examining the dagger again. The beautiful dagger with the emeralds embedded in it's silver hilt. Ginny could see her face's reflection contorted, as if the blade were a carnival mirror. She was studying the blade when she noticed the smallest edge of writing: To hear with sight.  
  
"To hear with sight?" Ginny read into her empty office.  
  
"What?" A muffled feminine voice asked from the door.  
  
Ginny looked up. In the threshold stood a tall blonde behind a stack of over filled boxes.  
  
"Good afternoon Holly." Ginny greeted, making her way to help her coworker with the boxes.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Draco sat at the small table across from his father. His father's black marble Knight had taken his white marble Rook. He still was not quite sure how his father accomplished this, but he had to take his father's word for it.  
  
Lucius had begun topics on many things, but Draco had dropped each one quickly. Answering with short Yes and No sirs. He did not want to be here with every fiber of his being. The only reason he made these awkward visits was to please his mother, and up to a year ago, the visits had only been twice a month.  
  
"Draco," he began, dragging his black queen across the board. "How is that map business of your's coming along? The Weasley girl still helping you."  
  
Draco was not surprised of his father's knowledge of the map. He had been the one to suggest Mr. Roberts, but Draco had not informed him of Ginny's involvement.  
  
"Yes sir." Draco answered curbing the surprise from his voice. He kept his gray eyes fixed on the chess pieces, hoping his father might want to drop the subject.  
  
"Do you care to indulge?" Lucius asked. His silky voice more demanding than inquiring.  
  
"The plan is coming along smoothly." Gliding his white Rook across the board to take his father's Bishop."Weasley's involvement has been minimal and by tomorrow evening she will have none at all. She was quite useless really."  
  
"My young son," Draco felt his father's smooth but cold finger pulling his chin up to meet cool gray orbs, "That is where you are wrong."  
  
"What do you mean?" He asked pulling subtly away from his father. His eyes falling back to the inanimate chess pieces. The ministry refused to allow any magical objects within Lucius Malfoy's grasp. Draco had to leave his wand when he arrived as if he were visiting a common criminal.  
  
"I mean," Lucius whispered as he leaned over the game, his thin white locks brushing the pieces. "You could use her Draco."  
  
"That skinny brat." Draco spat sitting back in his chair. "I think not."  
  
"You think too much." Lucius replied a sneer forming on his lips. Draco saw the look in his father's eyes. The same eyes he saw every morning in the mirror, but these had an eccentric gleam to them, undeniably belonging to a mad man. He knew that the ministry was quick to acknowledge his father's insanity. The man was indeed crazy. The doctors and nurses agreed that it had been many factors: The fall of his dark lord. The world he fought two wars for collapsing around him.  
  
His behavior was humiliating, running off into his own world, speaking in gibberish and third person. Draco had been sure it was an act. Something to fool the ministry. He was wrong.  
  
After all the tests, he was given the chance to speak privately with his father. Draco was sure his father would turn to him with his thin lips curled in the Malfoy smirk and explain to him how it was all staged. That it was his way of diverting the ministry and escaping a lifetime in Azkaban. That he would be home to take care of his wife. To Draco's horror he just sat in the chair speaking soothingly to himself.  
  
Unfortunately, he was getting better. The episodes of embarrassing convulsions had subsided. He was holding half lucid conversations and occasionally could hold a non-wizarding game of chess. Draco would have claimed him sane. He held his self in the same demeanor Draco had remembered from childhood, cold but clearheaded. The only difference was the irrational look in his eyes.  
  
Now the same mad eyes, the same delicate voice was trying to convince him to use Ginny Weasley. The same Ginny Weasley, who had brought his father so much disappointment Draco's second year. He knew he shouldn't be listening to him. The man was crazy but to save his mother Draco was would snog a dementor. If that meant making deals with the devil, then so be it.  
  
Draco found himself very uncomfortable sitting across from a lunatic. He quickly broke eye contact, glancing at his shiny new silver wrist watch. It was nearly five o'clock. His mother's nurses would be expecting him home.  
  
"I have to go." He stood up as Lucius let his back fall in his own seat. "Lovely time as always, Father."  
  
"Heed my word Draco." The elder Malfoy called to his son's retreating back. "Heed my word."  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Ginny stood next to her bed, her entire wardrobe covering her daisy yellow sheets. She had come home, relinquishing the office to her lanky colleague. Now she had the job of finding something to wear.  
  
She had never really been taken on a date. While at Hogwarts Ron would pay attention to her long enough to scare any willing boy away. Since working at the Ministry she'd had enough offers to make her confident with herself, but with her job no time accept any. Seamus had brought her on many lunch dates and if all failed she got to come home to Colin.  
  
'Colin.' Ginny smiled to herself thinking of him. Colin forever her rock. They had not become close, barely talking at all, till their fourth year. Colin was being teased by boys from their own year and house. The taller boys had Colin's camera much out of his reach. Ginny warned them to leave him alone, to give him back his camera. The large fourth years insisted on taunting Colin for being small, un-athletic, and for his ever open and odd fascination with the Boy-Who-Lived.  
  
Ginny recalled threatening them to give it back, or they would be sorry. She jumped for the camera herself to no avail. Hermione seemed to come out of the stone walls of the corridor, flashing her prefect privileges and flanked by her two best friends. The boys stiffened and dropped the camera into Hermoine's hands. Apologizing profusely before scampering down the stone hall. Ginny smiled to see her brother and Harry standing there smirking at each other. 'Her heroes.' She remembered thinking.  
  
Colin had been embarrassed but thanked Ginny and Hermione anyway. That evening in the Great Hall, he sat by her for the first time and Ginny found Colin could be a bit of chatter box. The boy could talk for hours without taking a breath, leaving Ginny no room for discussion but she liked it that way.  
  
"Colin." Ginny called into the empty air of their flat.  
  
"What?" Colin answered from where Ginny was convinced was the kitchen.  
  
"Come help me find something to wear." She whined, throwing a fairly new peach robe to the bed.  
  
"Don't have to yell ya know." Colin replied through a mouth of corn beef sandwich. He was leaning against the open door of her bedroom.  
  
"So," He asked swallowing. "I reckon, another date with Seamus, eh?"  
  
"No." Ginny said hoping her voice was casual.  
  
"Well," Colin asked confused. "Then who?"  
  
"It's not a date, but I'm not telling you. You'll just make fun." Ginny picked up an awful pink dress her mother had bought her holding it to her blue cotton pajama clad chest, before throwing it to the ground.  
  
"C'mon, Gin-bug tell me." Colin begged, shaking his head at a blue sweater Ginny was holding. "I told you when I took out that model chap."  
  
"You weren't embarrassed. You were damn well proud."  
  
"I was not. Models are shallow." Colin argued, handing Ginny a knee length cream colored dress.  
  
"Oh yes you were." Ginny insisted. She was holding the new dress up. "You ran around the flat for hours singing, I'm taking out Jason Morgan at the top of your bloody lungs."  
  
"No I wasn't. I was singing 'I'm taking out SUPER-MODEL Jason Morgan.'" Colin sang, giving Ginny a thumbs up to her new dress.  
  
"Either way, It's not a date. It's....business, and I'm not telling you." Ginny answered, gathering the rest of her clothes off the bed.  
  
"Well, date or not. You're going to look lovely, Gin."  
  
Colin helped Ginny put her clothes away, berating her for the not so fashionable choices that filled her wardrobe. It consisted mostly of oversized Weasley sweaters, denim and corduroy trousers, shoes that were either too big or too small, but at the back of her closet still in it's packaging was the prettiest cloak Ginny could ever afford.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Quidditch was a sport Draco loved dearly. The crowds cheering, the mascots dancing, the teams on their brooms soaring higher and higher, the overall excitement. He saw it more like a piece of art than a competition.  
  
He admitted It was different when you played. It was more beautiful. The wind whipping by you and the adrenalin pumping through you as you hover meters above the pitch. One fail swift of a bludger and they would be carting you off to the hospital wing. He missed playing. He really did but he couldn't. Good as he was in school it was nothing compared to professional quidditch. Instead he did the next best thing, and bought himself a quidditch team.  
  
His quidditch team Puddlemere United was facing the Chudley Canons or as Draco preferred to refer to them as talent less fire-orange pigs who unfortunately for all, learned to fly. Draco's hatred for the team only grew as he heard the announcement of the players on that Monday afternoon.  
  
"And as Seeker, Mr. Harry Potter." An overly excited voice proclaimed from the announcer's box.  
  
Draco's hand clasped around his champagne glass a little too tightly and the light gold substance began shaking.  
  
"Didn't know. Did you?" Ginny asked, taking a sip from her own glass. She was sitting to seats away from him pale legs crossed. She was wearing a pale cream dress that fell above her knee when she sat. 'It was suitable for muggles' Draco thought, 'but what else could he expect from a Weasley.' Her mass of wild red hair was tamed, worn down, and straight. It covered her arms and back like a cloak.  
  
She was pretty Draco reluctantly admitted. His father's words ringing clear in his head. 'Maybe Weasley was useful for something.'  
  
"Didn't know what?" Draco asked dragging his narrowed gray eyes up her crossed legs eventually reaching her face. He took a sip from his cool glass.  
  
"Don't play dumb." Ginny answered putting her glass on the table. They were in his private owner's box. "You didn't know, Harry played for the Cannons."  
  
"My Virginia," Draco started with sarcasm."Your surveillance skills are a marvel. How did the Aurors let you slip through their fingers?"  
  
"I was too good." Ginny added. Her eyes never leaving a certain flying fire- orange pig.  
  
"Obviously not good enough for Potter. He surely didn't notice."  
  
"Look Malfoy." Ginny started, "I'm here about the map. Not you and Harry's immature post Hogwarts battle of bigger bananas."  
  
Draco was in the middle of taking a sip of his bubbly, and used all his self-control to swallow. "Well." He cleared his throat. "Since we have talk of bananas out of the way. I guess we should discuss this map business eh?"  
  
Ginny nodded. Her brown eyes never leaving the game.  
  
"What would you like to know?" He asked.  
  
Ginny and Draco shared their information as the orange and blue teams zoomed through the clear September air. They didn't get much bartered as it was a quick game. Harry catching the snitch in an almost personal record. Bringing the Cannons their third win of the season.  
  
Draco took the loss much better then Ginny expected. He didn't break his chair or throw their bottle of shared champagne against a wall. He didn't run out the door proclaiming he was going to kill Walt Mc Heel, the head coach. He stood up his lips pressed firmly together.  
  
"Lovely." He exhaled. His thin nostrils barely flaring.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
The stadium's security guard opened the door to the owner's box at the top of the steps. Draco let Ginny walk through first. She stopped at the railing to look down onto the few lucky fans adorned in faded blue and flame orange waiting anxiously for their team's players. Each one hoping to get a picture or an autograph.  
  
"Pathetic." Draco mumbled over her shoulder in disgust.  
  
She heard a group of young girls scream and she felt Draco's head next to hers move as a tall raven maned figure was making his way through the sea of orange and blue. A taller man with ginger hair and freckles bound to his side, pushing people off as they grabbed for the Canon's young seeker.  
  
"Ron! Harry!" Ginny called from the balcony, hoping her brother could hear her over the crowd.  
  
She saw Ron look up at the sound of her voice and felt Draco's warm fingers clasp around her upper arm. Ron's sapphire eyes squinted as he sought her out. Ginny waved with her free arm again, and he waved back. Ron grabbed his friends arm, saying something to him and pointing at the balcony Ginny and Draco were standing on. Harry looked up, his green eyes barely making contact with Ginny's as he waved. They both continued on their way out.  
  
Neither man noticed Malfoy standing close behind Ginny. Draco took in her disappointed expression and obvious self-pity. Her brother and lifelong crush barely noticing her with the owner of a quidditch team alone in his private box. Both barely waving as they continued with their busy lives. Draco filed this emotion with the rest for future reference. He collected all the sensitivities he had witnessed from her and placed them in a folder named 'Ginny' in his mind of filing cabinets. He knew they would be more than useful.  
  
"C'mon Weasley." Draco drawled. The hand around her arm steering her away from the railing and down the steps.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
"Great team you bought there." Ginny said mockingly.  
  
Draco had invited her out to an early dinner, due to the short match. They had not been able to exchange all their information.  
  
The restaurant was not romantic in atmosphere. It was stuffy and reeked of old wizards and witches. The chairs were anything but comfortable. Ginny was sure they were magically manipulating her spine as they perfected her posture. Her eyes roamed over to Draco, and he looked completely content. His back straight. His elbow raised high as he sipped the wine the waiter declared as 'being a very good year.'  
  
"Oh yes." He said taking a sip. "I see them taking the league championship."  
  
"Do you really?" Ginny asked. She was surprised at Draco's sudden admiration and enthusiasm for his team.  
  
"My God no." He snickered. Which wasn't really a pleasant sound to Ginny's ears.  
  
"That's not funny." She insisted. "To put your team down. Do you really expect them to do well, with encouraging speeches like that?"  
  
"Oh please." Draco said taking another sip of his dark drink. "I've only met one of them. That Scottish fellow...Wood."  
  
"What?" Ginny asked baffled. "You haven't even met your team. The men whose futures you hold."  
  
"I bought the team. I'm not their coach." Draco interrupted. "I don't go down to the pitch, give them hugs, kisses, pat their backs, and read them bed time stories. It's not my thing." Again Draco took another sip, "My money is all the encouragement they need."  
  
"I see." Ginny sighed rolling her own half-full glass over in her hands. The dark purple liquid turning red as it swirled onto the sides."So you erased Hermione's memory, eh?" She asked testing the waters of a different subject.  
  
"No, Virginia." He started. Bringing the wineglass to his lips again before setting it empty on the white tablecloth. "I haven't seen Granger in...well over a year."  
  
Ginny didn't understand why, but she believed him. He had no use in lying to her now. He agreed with Ginny that he had been the one to break into her house and steal his map.  
  
"But it was MY map! I had every right to get it back." He had defended.  
  
He also admitted that he had knowledge of Hermione's memory being tampered, but that nothing harmful had or would come of it. Ginny had exhaled loudly with this news. Draco however refused to disclose who had done the tampering. Leaving Ginny with many unanswered questions.  
  
"So," He said staring at her. "Are you going to help me or not?"  
  
"Me?" Ginny asked baffled.  
  
Draco nodded.  
  
"Me." She repeated.  
  
"A name you call yourself." Draco said massaging his brow with his fingers. "Now, if your going to burst into song. I'd rather be somewhere else, so are you or are you not?"  
  
"Not what?" Ginny said. 'Did Draco Malfoy just ask for her help? Again.'  
  
"Going to help me." He asked a whiny tinge to his voice.  
  
"Why should I?" Ginny asked. Her voice unexpectedly calm and steady. 'Why was Malfoy asking for her help?' More important, 'Why did Malfoy need her help?'  
  
Draco's mouth opened then closed, and eyes narrowed for a second. He seemed to have not been expecting this protest.  
  
"Double your pay." He smirked.  
  
"Double my pay?" Ginny asked insulted. Her freckled arms crossing on the table. "Do I look like a bought woman?"  
  
"Do you honestly want the answer?" He studied Ginny's face. No sign of a smile, but narrowed eyes and a set mouth. "What do you want?"  
  
"First, I'd like to know exactly what you want with it." Ginny started pushing her wine glass around nervously with her fingers. Not everyday did Draco Malfoy ask you what YOU wanted. "Second, well...I'd like a part of it."  
  
"Part of what?"  
  
"Part of the map." Ginny answered.  
  
"What for?" Draco asked one silver brow arching. He was beginning to question Virginia's intentions. Maybe his father was wrong. Maybe he shouldn't trust her. She already tried to cross him once.  
  
"You answer my question first." Ginny smiled revealing a deep dimple among her freckles. She knew she had the upper hand and she was going to use it. 'Draco didn't want her. He Needed her.'  
  
"Well then we really are in trouble. I'll give you a quarter of the map, but of your earlier question the subjects closed." Draco slid his uncomfortable chair back and stood up. "So It seems we're at an impasse."  
  
He took a dark velvet sack from his long gray jacket and deposited a few gold coins onto the table. His demeanor seemed uncaring that Ginny had refused to help him. He was walking out expecting her to follow. Ginny could feel her opportunity slipping by. Maybe she was wrong and whatever plans Malfoy had with the map he could do on his own.  
  
Ginny thought the sound of her own voice sounded pathetic as she called after him.  
  
"I'll help you." She called to his back. Draco stopped and was startled to find Ginny so close.  
  
"You will." Draco said, standing to the side to share room between the tables.  
  
"Yes." She sounded defeated. She was making a deal with the devil she knew, but what other choice did she have.  
  
"I knew you'd see the light." He smirked.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
A/N/O/S: Don't worry Ginny's not still hopelessly in love Harry. It was from D-POV and well, you know.  
  
A/N: Puddlemere United, I looked EVERYWHERE and couldn't find what colors they wear so I put them in blue. I apologize and will gladly change it if someone knows.  
  
To the Great Reviewers: Virtual Faerie- All your reviews are so sweet. Thank you so much, and well I've already given you free reign over the story. I checked out portkey.org and recommend all D/G, H/H, or J/L fans to go do the same. Anyway, Thanks. Blazefury- Thanks a lot, I can't wait to see how it all comes out either. Kallei Karali- No, I haven't killed Hermione off. (Pauses for Dramatic effect) Yet. Just joking. Thanks for the review. Aurora North- Don't we all love angry Ginny and Snarky Draco. Beccs- You don't say much, but it means a lot. August, Aemiliana, Lyss, Me, Elfmoon87: Thanks bunches and schnoogles for everyone. 


	6. Harry, Heads, and Blaise Zabini

Ginny's nerves were on end as she approached Hermione's office. The door was closed but she could see more than one dark form behind the smoked glass. She also felt guilt for lying and with holding knowledge of her memory lapse from the former head girl, but she had to get the book. Draco had told her to before he left for Greece a week ago.  
  
Now here she stood before Hermione's office gathering all her Gryffindor courage to knock. She lifted her hand to knock when the door opened and she was looking up into the green eyes of Harry Potter. He seemed shocked as he stood motionless looking down at her.  
  
"Harry." She said smiling nervously. 'Did they have to make this harder?' "That was a great game last week."  
  
"I guess." Harry said scratching the back of his black head. He stepped to the side giving Ginny room to walk in.  
  
Hermione was sitting behind her desk. Her brown curls pulled into a tight ponytail creating a sort of dome at the back of her head. It reminded Ginny of the short time in her sixth year when Dean Thomas had gone through his art stage. He grew his dark hair out, wore large sunshades, a red beret, and insisted on using words like 'dig it', 'daddy-o', and called everyone 'a cool cat.'"  
  
"Hey Ginny." Hermione greeted the red head from behind her desk. "What can I do for you?"  
  
"Oh." Ginny squeaked nervously rubbing the bottom of her light blue robes between her sweaty fingers. "I was wondering if I could borrow a book."  
  
Hermione gave Ginny a questioning look. It was common knowledge Hermione didn't lend her books out and Ginny was quick to explain herself. She lied to Hermione telling her that she needed to borrow the book for further investigation of a deatheater.  
  
"It's all for the better good." She smiled nervously.  
  
Hermione was reluctant but Ginny pressed, proclaiming "I'll bring it back good as new."  
  
Ginny let out a sigh of relief as Hermione climbed the sliding ladder. She pulled the red leather book from it's place and handed it to Ginny.  
  
"Oh, deja vu." She said carefully placing her foot on each rung.  
  
"Same cat or different cat?" Harry asked.  
  
Both Hermione and Ginny looked at him puzzled. She sometimes did not understand Harry's strange since of humor. He mumbled something about his cousin's favorite movie .  
  
Hermione shook her head as she stepped off the ladder. "It just feels like I've done this before." She finished sitting down in the brown chair behind her desk.  
  
"Best not to tell Lavender. She'll swear it was from a past life." Harry chuckled from his chair. He was sitting slumped low in his chair, his long legs perching his worn out tennis shoes on Hermione's desk. The act reminded Ginny of someone but she couldn't remember who.  
  
"Don't be ridiculous Harry." Hermione scolded, swiping at Harry's feet but with a Seeker's reflexes he pulled them from her reach, before positioning them again.  
  
Hermione gave an exaggerated sigh and Ginny knew she was going to allow Harry to leave his dirty shoes where they were. "You know I don't nor will I ever believe in the preposterousness of reincarnation. All I was saying was it felt like I had done this before. You know what I mean. Don't you Ginny?" She asked addressing Ginny for the first time since she had sat down.  
  
Ginny tried to stop the uncontrollable nervous fit of giggles but failed. "Yeah sure." She giggled, clutching the book to her chest and hating herself for never being able to lie properly.  
  
Harry and Hermione were looking at her and Ginny was glad for once that Ron wasn't there. He would have known there was something wrong, that she was lying. Then he would have used that brilliant chess player mind of his and put two and two together. He would brand her a traitor for working for a Malfoy. Her father would be more disappointed in her than her first year and her brothers would disown her. Everyone would hate her forever.  
  
Ginny knew she was being irrational but she felt as trapped as a caged pixie. Her brother's best friends observing her giggling self as if she were a grindylow in an aquarium. She had to get out of Hermione's office and she had to get out now.  
  
"Look at the time." Ginny grinned pushing her robe and jumper sleeve back to reveal a bare wrist. "I have to go. Money is time. Time is money." She turned to Hermione. "Thanks for the book and I promise to bring it back. Good as new."  
  
Ginny nearly ran out the door and down two stairwells to her office. Clasping the book to her chest and gasping for breath she collapsed against the closed door. Her two co-workers staring questioningly at her.  
  
'Malfoy owes me big time.' She thought to herself.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
While Ginny was collapsing against a door at the ministry, Draco was many countries away arguing with a purple robed wizard in a tiny hut outside of Sikourio.  
  
"What do you mean you don't have it?!" Draco yelled standing up so he could tower over the gangly man. It was an intimidation tactic he learned from his father.  
  
The man, Draco was asked to call Brutus, had just told him that he had sold the rare dagger Draco had traveled from London to buy.  
  
"I mean I don't have it." The African-Asian wizard answered. His deep voice never wavering under the glare of the taller angrier man. Draco felt his jaw flinch as he ground his teeth, desperately attempting to control his temper. He had been refereed to Brutus after searching Knockturn Alley high and low for the very unique dagger.  
  
"Well who did you sell it too?" Draco spat through his teeth. His patience run as thin as this man's bony wrists. He had wasted an entire week of his mother's precious time hunting down this crazy-useless-bone collecting- weapon trading-hut living-wanker.  
  
"Oh, I'm not sure I should say Mr. Longbottom. I don't think I really remember.." He trailed off. His beady black eyes looked up to Draco's gray with a greedy glint.  
  
Draco understood the man's implication and dug through his dark robes for one of his trusty black sacks. He pulled it from it's home and threw the bag at the haggard man with disgust. "You can remember now can't you."  
  
"Ah, yes it seems I can." Brutus answered. He was absently playing with a necklace of yellowed werewolf teeth he wore around his neck. "I remember selling it to a young Mr. Zabini."  
  
"Zabini." Draco repeated, hoping his ears had not deceived him. "Are you sure?"  
  
"Yes, Zabini." The man assured, dumping the gold onto the wood paneled floor of his hut. His beady eyes watering as he took in the heap of gold.  
  
"I will definitely remember to do business with you more often Mr. Longbottom." He laughed piling the galleons into six neat stacks.  
  
"No." Draco said pulling out his wand. "You won't."  
  
He pointed his wand at the tiny man on the floor and closed his eyes.  
  
"Obliviate!." Draco's voice rang clear as his spell hit the man. His dark face seemed almost whimsical as he asked the familiar question, "Who are you?"  
  
"No one." Draco replied, his voice flat. He turned on his heel pushing the bamboo curtain out of his way as he stepped out of the dark hut, into the Greek evening sun.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Ginny threw the red leather bound book onto Draco's desk. The gold lettering reflecting the green and white setting sun from the stained glass windows behind his desk.  
  
"D' ya know how hard it was to get that bloody thing?" Ginny asked. She was angry Draco had not even bothered to owl her since his return two days ago. Not owling to see how she did with fetching the book.  
  
'Maybe because he could give a rat's fat arse, Ginny.'  
  
His eyes moved from the book by his feet to Ginny. They held the same bored expression they always held.  
  
"Well do you?" She repeated, tucking an untamable red strand behind her ear.  
  
"You wouldn't happen to know where Blaise Zabini is would you?" He asked ignoring her question.  
  
Ginny opened her mouth to say something and closed it. She wasn't expecting that reply. A snide remark of 'No, and I care even less.' or 'Should I? I'll make sure and put it on my list of things to discover before I impale myself on a pitchfork in my front lawn.' She was not expecting to be interrogated about the whereabouts of Blaise Zabini.  
  
"Well do you?" Her urged lifting a pale eyebrow up at her.  
  
"Why would I know where Blaise Zabini is?"  
  
"Well your brother attacked his home less than a month ago, stealing everything his family held dear to them."  
  
"Ron did not attack, he invaded. He didn't steal, he confiscated."  
  
"Call it what you like Ginny. I could careless, but do you know where he is?" Draco asked again.  
  
"You know I grew up with six brothers," Ginny sat down on the couch he had next to the fireplace. "If you keep talking to me this way. It'll just take longer to get the information out of me."  
  
Draco moved quietly from his seat as she had been settling herself comfortably on his coach. She was surprised when she found him leaning against the front of his desk, his legs crossed casually at the ankles. His unreadable gray eyes darker with the loss of light, holding no amusement.  
  
"Trust me, Ginny." His voice was soft. "If I wanted something. Not even the most stubborn cow could keep it from me. Now, where is Blaise Zabini."  
  
"Not in Azkaban if that's where your thinking. Someone tipped him off and he ran before Ron's team go there. It wasn't a complete lost though, they gathered enough evidence to convict the little coward if he ever comes back."  
  
Draco stood silent. Ginny guessed he was digesting this information and was thinking of his next course of action. His silence encouraged her to keep going.  
  
"Well, it was just your run of the mill deatheater goodies."  
  
"Great." He looked away pushing the charcoal sleeves of his fitted jumper a quarter up his forearm as he crossed them over his chest.  
  
"What's all the interest in Blaise Zabini, anyway?" Ginny pressed. What was Draco's fascination with the deatheater? Ginny had a friend in classifieds who had checked into Draco's background for her. His folder had been more like a filing cabinet but his only connections to the Dark Lord were his father and his manor.  
  
"Nothing of your concern. All you need to worry that pretty little redhead of your's about is finding the other three quarters of my map."  
  
"Our map." She corrected smiling at his sneer.  
  
"Well, three-fourths my map." He replied tilting his head to look at Ginny again. "So about this book of yours?"  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
"This is useless." Draco spat throwing the delicate book Ginny had brought him on the couch barely missing the redhead. He had spent three weeks reading it and the last two hours reading boring page after boring page. There was no information in the way of locations for finding the other three pieces. He had found a tracking spell between pages three-hundred sixty and four-hundred but it only worked if you were in close proximity. The book and tracking spell were useless. Like his quarter of the map was useless without the other three pieces. Giving his mother less of a chance then a Hufflepuff has in hell.  
  
"It is not." Ginny argued from the floor. Her back was against the couch and stacks of rare books encircled her. She had a large one open and covering her lap.  
  
"Is so." He replied, summoning a gold-paged book off the top of one of the four stacks around her.  
  
He had required nearly all the reference books, diaries, and journals off Knockturn Alley and from some of his father's old friends. He didn't tell Ginny some were from the Manor's library.  
  
He heard Ginny sigh in defeat grabbing the mudblood's book from behind her head. Using it to cross-reference one she already had.  
  
"There are lot's of mentions of Cairo." Ginny said. She curled a lock of thick red hair behind her ear. Her head snapping from one book to the other.  
  
"Well, that might be due to the fact that you're reading The Chronicles of Cairo." "I guessed that much. It's just." She stumbled as she looked back to the three books opened around her. "It doesn't end at the second novel. Where's the third?"  
  
"I suspect still in Cairo." He replied, keeping his focus on the gold pages of his book, The Journal of Seraphim White. He was waiting for that little Gryffindor mind of her's to ask why, and he would explain that the third book was very expensive, not that he couldn't afford it. He didn't want to buy it on principle, Malfoy's did not pay such high prices for the frivolous.  
  
Fortunately, they had learned enough from the first two installments to justify the buying of the third. Ginny had read to him two conditions to retrieving this particular corner of the map. Only someone of Egyptian decent, who also had the ability to read hieroglyphics could take the map from it's altar. Draco didn't fret when Ginny had made a fuss about not knowing anyone that fit that description. She noted that Hermione could read Hieroglyphics, but as far as her knowledge went Hermione was not of Egyptian decent. He simply smirked and nodded his head at her little frustrated tantrum. He had someone in mind but he was reluctant to cross that bridge.  
  
He shifted his eyes keeping his head still and his face impassive as he waited for her to respond. To his annoyance she sat contentedly on the floor. Her red hair cloaking her face as she read from the big books in her lap, her thumb between her two front teeth. A nervous habit he had discovered she had at the while observing her at the quidditch game.  
  
He was compelled, by his own childish pride, to use nasty but reliable school tactic to make his presence felt. He could call her poor, comment on her century-old Oak-tree stump of a mother.  
  
"Well," She sat up with her book. Her red hair was falling out of her face.  
  
Draco smirked to himself as his eyes quickly went back to his book. 'Gryffindors are so predictable.'  
  
"I suggest you get your skinny arse down there and get it." Draco held his book tightly, asking himself if he had heard her correctly. 'Yes.' His mind assured him. 'Yes, you have.'  
  
"Since, when does a Malfoy take orders from a Weasley. The tiniest, most insignificant to boot." He sneered, happy to know he could still get a rise from her, as his eyes flicked up to watch her flush pink. "Actually I should send you down there. Make you do some of the work."  
  
Ginny opened her mouth to say something but nothing came out, so Draco continued.  
  
"Unfortunately, I don't trust you with my money. You might try to run off and feed that overgrown family of yours."  
  
He finally looked up from his book when he felt Ginny's anger so close to his desk. Her face wasn't as flushed as he was hoping but she was quite pale. The white of her skin contrasted with the deep brown of her eyes producing eyes made of ebony as she looked down at him, the first time Draco could remember her ever doing so. He was tempted to ask her if it was something he'd said, as if it was commonplace to insult her family and her honor. Instead, he just lifted an eyebrow innocently.  
  
She smiled sweetly at him, an unsettling smile that unnerved Draco. It was the kind of smile given from a madman or in his case a madwoman.  
  
"Fuck you."  
  
"Come again." He asked. Her voice had been so sickeningly sweet that he was sure he hadn't understood her. Besides, Ginny Weasly didn't use words like that.  
  
"Fuck you!" She repeated slowly, pronunciation given to each syllable. "I was just trying to be helpful, but no. You have to be the great spoiled overbearing git you are!"  
  
Draco drowned her out as he searched the drawers of his desk. Ginny Weasley had better uses than ranting, and he was going to put her to them as soon as he found the dark purple coin pouch. It had been his mother's when she was young, something to hold her pocket money.  
  
"I don't even know why I'm working for you?" She continued.  
  
"Because I'm paying you a lot and you can't stand being away from my irresistible charm." He lazily commented opening the top left hand drawer.  
  
He found it in the second drawer and pulled it out by it's silver cord. He kept the old pouch close because it reminded him of his mother. He bitterly smiled as he opened the soft velvet bag and deposited some gold and silver from his own pouch an act he'd seen her perform many times. "And now to hear that you don't trust me. Not that I care, but I don't know what kind of working relationship we have if."  
  
"Here!" He interrupted throwing the bag at her. Her reflexes, not being that of a seeker or even a keeper, weren't too bad and with difficulty she caught the bag.  
  
He was going to send her to Diagon Alley to buy him a traveling cloak, in turn giving her a false since of trust. If she thought he trusted her, then she would trust him. He was going over these wicked thoughts in his head, when the most unusual thing happened. She closed her eyes tightly and started gasping for breath. It reminded Draco of the time he'd watched her sleeping when she had been calling for her mother. She quickly came out of her convulsion giggling and with a clearly, forced smile.  
  
"What was I saying?" She asked ringing the dark coin purse in her hands.  
  
"Just how wonderful I am and how grateful you are to be working for a man like me." He smirked.  
  
Something was definitely different about Ginny Weasley.  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
Outside of Cairo:  
  
"Mr. Malfoy back so soon." The dark complected wizard greeted, adjusting the golden tassel of his rust-brown fez.  
  
"I came back for the last book. Finally found a use for it." He drawled, swinging the brown sack in his hands.  
  
The petite man smiled revealing missing canines, as his dark eyes went to the sack Draco was carrying. He spun and disappeared deeper into the shop. Draco decided, while he waited for the man, to see what else he had in his shop observing the artifacts in the center of the dark and dusty pyramid.  
  
The man reappeared, the gold tassel a top his head swinging back and forth. In one arm he held the silver bound book and the other held a torch. Draco eyed the torch, wondering how far the man had to go in the tomb to retrieve it.  
  
"Here it is." He announced slamming the book on to the counter, sending month old dust onto Draco's expensive black robes. "Sorry." He mumbled trying to dust them off, but Draco stepped out of his reach. He could afford new robes but he couldn't afford to get the filth of this man off him. "Now do you have what I want, Mr. Malfoy."  
  
Draco sucked on his teeth as he hoisted the brown burlap sack onto the counter next to the book. A mysterious red liquid staining it's bottom.  
  
"Excellent." The grubby little man licked his lips grabbing for the bag.  
  
Draco moved swiftly and grabbed his own part of their trade.  
  
"Not a word." Draco said feeling nauseous as the man dipped a dirty hand into the bag bringing green and red matter to his lips.  
  
"Not a word." The fez wearing demon agreed, through a mouthful of Christmas colored matter. It made Draco feel as if his coffee and muffin were going to meet him, before he made it out of the tomb.  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
A tall man with pale blonde hair leaned against a wall of the pyramid he'd abandoned for support. He was trying his best not to retch before the hoards of wizard-tourists admiring the pyramids around them in the dead city. His broad shoulder's giving to his thinner forearms that were wrapped protectively around an ash-gray book.  
  
He bumped into a enfeebled homeless native, who was wrapped in dirty dark- brown robes. He looked to have been pleading for knuts and sickles all day.  
  
"Watch where your going?" He snapped, backing away from the other man. His cheeks were bright pink, from the sun or his annoyance, and his blonde hair was falling into his face. He looked more disheveled then anyone had ever seen a Malfoy.  
  
"Sorry." The man mumbled stumbling away from him and closer to the tomb. He gripped his hole covered cloak around him tighter.  
  
The taller man swiftly pulled his wand from a pocket of his robes, and in the frustration of not being able to control his nausea pointed it at the man. The infamous Malfoy self-control wavering. His left hand was steady as he held his weapon before him. His eyes, silver in the noon sun, betraying his anger and irritation.  
  
"Not worth it." He groaned in disgust before pushing past a family of blondes witches, who were taking pictures with their tour guide. The man under the hood smiled as he turned into the crypt. The tomb was musty and smelled uncharacteristically of copper. He ignored the foul stench as he found his way down the long passages. He stood to his full height, the limp and hunched back non-existent as he moved further into the pyramid. Finally, he reached his destination, and pulled back his dirty hood to reveal a ponytail of sleek shoulder length black hair and his violet eyes took in the brain eating filth before him.  
  
"Mr. Zabini." The shop owner greeted the young man with a smile of troll blood and brains.  
  
Disclaimer: Of course I don't own anything except the eccentric OC who will most likely never pop-up again.  
  
Author's Note on Reviews: riverchic1998, blazefury, and VirtualFaerie: Yall Rock. And thanks so much for the reviews.  
  
Either way thanks for reading and if you get a chance review. If not that's okay too. 


	7. Sunburns, Colin, and Silver Bells

He tenderly rubbed the patches of feverish dry pink skin under his eyes, hissing as he watched himself backwards in the mirror. His perfectly manicured fingers tracing a path form the highest point of his cheekbones to the tip of his pointed nose. Pain shot through his facial nerves at the contact of his nail and nose and his frown deepened even further.   
  
"That's it!" He yelled into his large empty room. "I'm not leaving my room till this horrid outbreak goes away."   
  
In his green pajama bottoms he padded across the room and dramatically threw himself onto his large feather mattress.   
  
"That sounds like a brilliant idea, dear." He heard the sympathetic voice of his mirror.   
  
Draco huffed as he pulled the thick cover over his disgustingly pink and painful face.   
  
He hadn't noticed his painfully pink face had been hexed until he had arrived home from Egypt. His first order of business had been to see his mother and he had sat by her side for the evening. Narcissa's nurse had given him a sympathetic look, but he had been used to those. The older nurses always looked as if they wanted to hug him. However, when he left his mother's side for dinner the servants had given him odd looks. In the beginning Draco's ego had told him they were admiring his symmetrical aristocratic features, but the looks turned to hidden behind their hand giggles and Draco's temper got the better of him.   
  
"What's wrong with everyone?" He whined to his head house-elf. "Has my face gone green or something?"   
  
Edmund's big blue-eyes had grown wide and his lip-less elfish mouth was struggling not to laugh. He gently directed Draco by the elbow to one of the many mirrors in the hall.   
  
"No master. It's gone itself pink." He answered shaking his tiny lapel clad shoulder's with laughter.   
  
Draco was sure if he hadn't been in shock from his bright pink cheeks, forehead, nose, and chin. He would have given his favorite house-elf the ability to fly without a broom.   
  
"Young Master?" Draco heard a muffled but still squeaky voice pulling him out of his bitter reflection.   
  
"What Tink?!" He spat from under his feather downed shelter.   
  
"Miss. Whezzy is on her ways to sees you, sir."   
  
"Buggar." He whined, still not pulling the dark cover down. He had been so absorbed with the state of his pink complexion that he had forgotten about his meeting with the Weasley.   
  
"Tink thinks. Not that master cares, but Tink thinks it be best if master be presentable to entertain Ms. Whezzy."   
  
"It doesn't matter." He said breathlessly, pulling the cover down. The thick blanket was suffocating him. "I'm not seeing her, anyway." He thought this over and found his idea brilliant, bloody brilliant.   
  
"That's it." He said assertively. His blanket fell to his naked waist, as he propped himself on the palms of his hands.   
  
Tink narrowed her oversized brown eyes at him with confusion.   
  
"Take this down Tink." He ordered looking down at the tiny elf whose head didn't reach the bed frame. Her little mouth opened to object and Draco realized his fumble. "Forget that, I forgot your kind can't read or write." Tink's eyes fell down to her feet. "Remember this then. Tell the staff and Edmund's too," He pointed a long finger at her. "I've taken ill and I won't be entertaining, visiting, or paying anyone till my terrible illness has been cured." He looked down at his young slave and she looked more confused then before he'd started.   
  
"Think your small elf-brain can remember all that?" He asked bitterly.   
  
"Tink will remember, sir." A deeper but still squeaky voice came from the now opened door.   
  
There stood Edmund in all his Napoleonesque glory. He was wearing the matching hat also. "Tink! Kitchens! Now!" He commanded, stepping into the room with his shiny black boots.   
  
Edmunds weaker female counterpart ran to the service door in Draco's room. It was a passage he had used many times as a child to sneak around the manor undetected. His eyes came back to rest on the ancient house-elf.   
  
He pulled his soft green pajama clad knees up to his chest. A tactic he'd learned in youth to gain his mother's sympathy. "Come to laugh at me too. Make me feel worse then I do already. Well it doesn't matter." Draco looked to his stain glassed windows. "I'm not meeting with anyone today and NOBODY!" He said turning back to the house-elf with narrowed eyes. "Is going to make me."   
  
"Suit Master's self." Edmund said dryly. "But Ms. Wheezy is in Master's office right now."   
  
*~*~*~*   
  
Ginny looked down at the tiny doe-eyed house-elf, who had ushered her outside Draco's office. She had been quite surprised to see another elf. Draco's were very good, and could pop in and out of the room with the blink of an eye. The only house-elf to be seen or heard was Edmund and he always made his presence known.   
  
"Excuse me, but what am I doing out here?" Ginny asked. She still didn't understand why she had been shooed outside.   
  
The little house-elf shushed Ginny. "Master says he wants Ginny Wheezy outside Master's office. Tink puts Ginny Wheezy outside Master's office."   
  
Ginny gave a disappointed sigh. _House-elves._   
  
The small house-elf named Tink, pushed his office door opened and peered in. Ginny heard a very annoying voice she knew belonged to Edmund squawk and Tink retreated.   
  
She turned back to Ginny and squeaked, "Not ready."   
  
Ginny smiled when Edmund opened the door. His glassy blue-eyes raked her body again and gave her a half hearted bow.   
  
"Master will see Ginny Wheezy now."   
  
"Thank you, ever so much." Ginny sarcastically replied.   
  
Ginny wasn't sure but she thought the house-elf's cold eyes narrowed bitterly at her, as she passed.   
  
The room was darker then she had been expecting. Draco usually kept the thick velvet curtains behind his desk open. She knew he liked the awed look people got from the Manor's beautiful stained glass windows. On the rare occasion's when he didn't, the massive ivy-leafed carved stone fireplace was ablaze with the dancing fire of a thousand colors. Another frill of his home, Ginny knew Draco took for granted.   
  
She squinted harder to see if Draco was sitting in his chair. If he was relaxing in his favorite position, he was more of a black silhouette then the illuminated white-blonde she was accustomed to seeing.   
  
"Draco, is something wrong?" She asked.   
  
"Nothing." He replied impassively.   
  
_His voice at least sounded normal._ Ginny thought. The slight fear she felt from the darkness ebbing.   
  
"Well," She began walking towards his desk, "If nothing's wrong then you won't mind if I light some candles."   
  
"Don't." He ordered from the dark of his chair and desk.   
  
"Why not?" Ginny asked. Her fear was giving way to the more powerful emotion, annoyance. She and Draco needed to do more research on the map and she only had half-an-hour for lunch.   
  
"I don't want them lit."   
  
Ginny realized this wasn't a justifiable answer but it was the only one she would get from him. Being the Weasley she was, the only Weasley that cared for anyone's feelings being her father, Ginny pulled her wand from her robes.   
  
"Lumos." She whispered. The tip of her wand illuminated the top of Draco's desk. She could see his white hair turned golden in the wand light as he backed into the shadow of his chair.   
  
"Stop. I'm a monster." He whined. He shielded his face from the wand light with his black robes.   
  
"Draco what's wrong?" Ginny asked. She didn't understand why she was worried but she ran around to his side of the desk.   
  
"Don't play dumb, Ginny." He spat bitterly, but it was muffled from his shield of thin night robes. "I told you. I'm a monster."   
  
"What like a Vampire?" Ginny asked curiously. Had Draco been bitten by a charming blood-sucking phantom of the night?   
  
He shook his head.   
  
"A Werewolf?" What if he'd been bitten by a hairy smelly overgrown demon-dog.   
  
Again a light bob of the honey against his black robes.   
  
"A Windego?" Her voice was uncertain. She was beginning to run out of monsters that transported their disease through bite, but she had never been good at _Care of Magic Creatures_.   
  
"No," He spat looking up at her. "I'm turning into a big pink something. Just look." He thrust his face into the wand light. He just looked flushed at first and Ginny was about to ask him if he were warm. When it suddenly dawned on her.   
  
"Draco, Have you been out in the sun lately?" She asked reaching one hand out to touch his smooth cheek.   
  
"Yes." He answered. Ginny was surprised he grimaced but didn't recoil from her touch.   
  
"A lot of sun?" She inquired leaning closer to him.   
  
"Is that not what I said."   
  
"You have sun burn." She announced sitting back from him. "Your not turning into some monster. Well, no more of a monstrosity than you already are."   
  
"Lovely." He said sitting back in his chair turning away from her. "How do I get rid of this..." He waved a delicate hand at his face. "What did you call it, sun-burn?"   
  
"Do you have some aloe and daisy root?" She asked.   
  
She had watched her mother, on more than one occasion, apply the nasty looking but sweet scented potion to her older brother's after an all day game of Quidditch. Ginny would hear Harry laughing at Ron as their mother slathered the near freezing potion on his back. Fortunate for Harry, he had never needed any. His complexion always turned a light gold. A fact she was secretly jealous of.   
  
"What for?" He asked. Ginny looked over and Draco was facing her again.   
  
"I can make you a potion that'll get rid of that for you." She replied haughtily. Ginny smirked to herself at knowing something the 'Great Potions Master' Draco Malfoy didn't.   
  
"Great." His gray eyes were narrowed.   
  
Draco leaned over and Ginny had to slide down his desk a bit. She hadn't noticed they were so close. He locked eyes with her as he picked up a silver bell, something else she hadn't noticed, and rang it twice.   
  
The tiny silver bell barely made a sound.   
  
"Yes Master." Two elves squeaked and Ginny jumped at their sudden appearance.   
  
"Aloe." Draco pointed at the female house-elf. "Daisy root." He pointed at the other. "Is that all?" He asked Ginny.   
  
"Mint." She replied. Her voice was a bit removed at the sight of Draco ordering his servants. Ginny had expected him to throw a tantrum over a cup of tea, but he was almost civilized with the way he handled his help.   
  
The two elves bowed lower then Ginny had ever seen an elf bow. Both of their slopping noses skimming the marble floor, before they scooted out a small service door she had never detected in the wall.   
  
*~*~*~*   
  
Draco watched as Ginny added the mint to the ingredient filled bowl she was holding. She used her forefinger to stir the daisy root, mint, and aloe. The swirls in the green and clear mixture reminded Draco of a strange candy. He briefly wondered if it tasted as good as it smelled. It had filled the study with a wonderful aroma of daisy's and mint.   
  
Ginny leaned against his desk, he could see her clearly now. She had complained enough about the room being too cold and he'd caved into lighting a fire. This act had given Draco a sting to his self-imposed law of: _Never help a Weasley_. He had agreed with himself not to let it happen again.   
  
She pressed her fingertips to his cheekbones and he felt the cold batter slide smoothly across the bridge of his nose.   
  
"Ow!" He yelled, backing away from her.   
  
"Stop being such a baby." She said leaning further into him. It seemed to be a difficult task of bending over him and holding the green swirled bowl and she set the bowl in his lap.   
  
He jerked again to annoy her.   
  
"Do you want me to sit on you?" She threatened putting the cold wooden bowl in his lap.   
  
"Matter's on if you'll be moving or not." Draco knew he was being immature, but he couldn't help himself. He lifted an eyebrow at Ginny but her face was relaxed. She either didn't understand his innuendo or she was deliberately ignoring him.   
  
_Humor really is lost on this girl._ He thought bitterly.   
  
"Push your fringe back." She asked pushing a little of his fair hair off his forehead with the back of her hand. She had worn her own hair down and the curled tips brushed the sides of his hands, as he pushed his own white locks back. He was uncomfortable with the idea that it would feel natural to curl her own red waves back.   
  
"Thanks." She whispered, gliding the batter across his forehead. He welcomed the cool sensation.   
  
His eyes wandered down Ginny's face. She had the pronounced rusty Weasley freckles that were sprinkled over her cheeks, nose, and forehead. Her face was a little rounder than her brother's. He could tell her cinnamon lashes were longs as they would brush her cheekbones when she looked down and dipped her fingers into his lap to get more lotion.   
  
His eyes traveled down and rested on her neck. It was slender and from it she wore a thin gold chain with a corresponding gold pendant. The pendant was of a snitch before two beater's clubs and it was suspended from a keeper's goal.   
  
"What's that?" Asked Draco curiously. He fingered the odd pendant with his fingertips.   
  
She looked down at her chest where Draco was touching her charm.   
  
"Oh that," Her eyes traveled back to Draco's now mint-green face. "That was a present I got when I graduated."   
  
"You didn't play quidditch."   
  
"True." She replied softly. "But almost all my brother's did."   
  
She wiped her hands on the white hand towel that Tink had brought with the bowl.   
  
She took the pendant from Draco's finger and touched the tiny snitch. "The snitch is for Charlie." She explained. "He was a seeker, good enough to play for England. If he hadn't run off chasin' dragons." She added casually.   
  
Her slim finger's moved to the tiny bats behind it. "The clubs are for Fred and George. Beaters but you already knew that, and the clasp," She moved to the keeper's goal. "Is for Ron. It took him till sixth year, but he finally made the house team."   
  
She smiled with pride, letting her gold pendant fall back to the base of her neck. Draco's eyes lingered on it for a moment, it was polished to a golden shine, reflecting the ever color changing flames from his fire. He briefly wondered why he'd never noticed it before. However he let his eyes fall further down the line of her v-neck blue jumper. It was slightly to big and gave Draco a minuted peek of her cleavage as she bent over him to check his hair line. He knew the sweater was most likely a Christmas or birthday gift. He'd discovered Ginny was of the people that no matter how unattractive the blouse was she would wear to not upset the person who had given it to her.   
  
At this moment, he was gracious to the person who had misjudged her size.   
  
He could smell her vanilla and sandalwood perfume over the mint and realized that he had never actually been this close to Ginny Weasley before. For the first time that she had put it there Draco was glad he had a cold bowl of mint, aloe, and daisy root in his lap.   
  
Draco didn't understand why but his itched to touch her pendant, again.   
  
"Do you always wear it?" He asked his knuckles brushing her collarbone as he fingered her golden chain.   
  
"Always," She answered, taking the wooden bowl from his lap and setting it on his desk. "Haven't taken it off since the day they gave it to me."   
  
She took her wand from the back pocket of her brown trousers and pointed it at the bowl. The light green mixture turned clear and Draco knew it was water when Ginny dipped a corner of a the hand-towel into the bowl and washed his face clean.   
  
"Done." She announced, looking down at him. "Good as new."   
  
"What do you want me to thank you?" He drawled and her face fell from pride to confusion. "Well I won't."   
  
He watched her face flush with anger as she gathered her light-blue work robe from her favorite chair. Ginny had become very good at leaving the room before the famous Weasley temper burst on him.   
  
"I don't see why _I_ should be so grateful. It was _your_ fault I was down _there_ in the first bloody place." He said lazily, pulling his dark slipper clad feet onto his desk.   
  
"Down where?" Ginny asked, reluctantly she turned around in the middle of the office.   
  
"Cairo, of course." He answered with a smirk.   
  
~*~*~*~*~   
  
Colin sat in silence watching Ginny sleep. She had fallen asleep on the floor, again. Her forehead lay against another one of the many books she bad brought home from work.   
  
She had been spending more and more time at the office. Bringing her files home on week nights, disappearing into the office on weekends. She had stopped attending Sunday lunches with her father and stopped spending time with her family in general. All her time was spent at work and frankly he was worried about her.   
  
She wasn't acting like the Ginny that he had shared Double-Potions with for seven years or the Ginny he had divided a flat with for two. She wasn't acting like the Ginny he had grown to love like a sister.   
  
No she had become a Ginny who had declined his offer of a week in Paris, a Ginny who no longer climbed in his bed when he came home from a night in Rome. She was a Ginny that in little over a month had become someone he barely knew.   
  
He bent down and softly brushed a lock of red hair out of her face. The book she was reading was old, he could tell, the pages were thin and yellow and written in a language Colin wasn't quite familiar with. Ginny had always been good at foreign languages, not as good as Hermione, but good none the less.   
  
"Don't touch me." She squealed crawling away from him. Her red hair was tangled and her eyes were puffy and unfocused from sleep. Pink creases lined her freckled cheeks from the pages of her book.   
  
"Gin it's me." He said softly. "It's Colin." He had to do this often when waking her. Reminding her of where she was and who she was with. A routine he had begun while still in their seventh year.   
  
Colin didn't understand why Ginny suffered the nightmares she did. From everything he had seen and heard from her. She had enjoyed a wonderful childhood, aside from the taunting of her older brothers, and she would be the first to tell him so.   
  
_No, Ginny has her own secrets._ He thought as Ginny scooted closer to him closing her book.   
  
"Sorry." She apologized wiping sleep out of her eyes.   
  
"S'okay Gin." He said wrapping a thin but protective arm around her.   
  
His eyes wandered over to the now closed book. The title was surprisingly in English and easily readable: _The Chronicles of Cairo._   
  
~*~*~*~*~*~   
  
Draco opened the dark crimson seal of the envelope that had arrived by owl this morning.   
  
_Mr. Malfoy,   
  
I would thoroughly enjoy having your presence at the sensational Hallo's Eve Ball thrown by the successful Weasley twins. I must explain that this is not a personal invitation, but a business proposition. The Weasley Wizard Wheezes company is always looking for new investors and I hope to be doing more business with you soon.   
  
Sincerely, P. Weasley_   
  
_Do business with one Weasley and you do business with them all._   
  
"I think not." Draco said crushing the invitation and the envelope in his fist and throwing them both carelessly over his shoulder.   
  
"You always thought too much." A drawling raspy voice announced from his office threshold. A voice that had shouted at him from the safety of the keeper's house. A voice he hadn't heard in a long while, but he needn't require to look at the man to connect it with his face.   
  
"Zabini." His eyes never left the parchment, as he brought the quill he was now holding down to it.   
  
"The one and only." He said sitting down in the chair Ginny often occupied. His long legs stretching out before him. Draco new those cold lavender eyes were taking in his office. "I must say your office is more..."   
  
Draco wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of curiosity.   
  
"Refined. Yes, that's the word I was looking for." Draco forced his eyes to meet the other mans. "Your office is more refined than mine."   
  
"Zabini,"Draco began calmly. "Is there something you want? If not I would rather you leave. I haven't the time to sit around all day for idle chit-chat, and from what I hear from the Ministry you don't either."   
  
Blaise's involuntarily cringed.   
  
Draco smirked with satisfaction. He most definitely had one up on Mr. Zabini. His face and concentration fell back to his doodle filled parchment.   
  
"Well," he said the smug smile he had worn walking into Draco's office vanished. "Where's your little Weasley at? Your house-elf says he hasn't seen her around here in a week?"   
  
_Did everyone know Ginny was working for him?_   
  
"Whatever do you mean?" Draco's eyes didn't leave the small triangle his quill was drawing.   
  
"Don't play fool Malfoy?!" Zabini spat standing up. "I know the girls working for you. Her brother raided my home and from the information I've collected, there's something I need to get back from her."   
  
"That's all great and well but what does that have to do with me?" Draco asked. He was fighting a smile as he added a circle to his neatly drawn triangle.   
  
_So Ginny had Zabini's dagger. Well, it's my dagger now._ He could feel the left side of his mouth twitching up.   
  
"It has everything to do with you." The raven haired boy hissed.   
  
"Really." He listlessly dropped the quill he'd been drawing with on the desk. "Please explain it to me, because I really don't see how Ginny Weasley and some possession of yours have anything to do with me.   
  
"What's between you and Weasley? Falls between _you_ and Weasley? I have nothing nor will I have anything to do with it. Yes, the girl works for me. I don't deny it but why should I? What she's done or is doing?" He chuckled. "Well, I don't see how any of that is your business."   
  
Blaise's eyes narrowed even further on his. "It is when you've been following behind me like some urchin mutt." He placed his hands defensively on Draco's desk. "I don't know what you're playing at Malfoy, but trust me. I'll make it my business to find out."   
  
Draco's eyes wandered to the tan hands that rested on his desk to the slitted eyes of his old schoolmate. He stood to his full height which fell just short of Blaise's. His hands positioned to mirror the former Slytherin. "You do that." He sneered and his hand went for the silverbell that lay dormant on his desk.   
  
Blaise deep eyes followed and before Draco could summon a house-elf he was gone in a swish of gray cloaks.   
  
Draco wrapped his fingers tightly around the antique silverbell. His temper getting the best of him, and he hurled the tiny chime into the stone of his fireplace. A toll that could have only been made by a large Chinese bong rang through the castle. Soon his office was filled with cooks, butlers, valets, tiny elves, and every other servant employed at Malfoy Manor.   
  
_At least I have control over one thing._ He thought bitterly.   
  
  
  
A/N: Okay, well this wasn't exactly the greatest chapter I've written but I'm hoping it showed a little more of the character's depth. If not, well then tell me what I did wrong in the review, okay.   
  
Well in the next chapter: We'll have: Draco at optimum evil. A new character whose pivotal to the sub-plot. Hermione starts figuring things out. Draco and Ginny get even CLOSER. And we have dancing: Ginny and Colin.   
  
Lyrics from songs that will influence the story: (Points if you guess which songs)   
  
_"A heart so big God wouldn't let it live"_   
  
_"Somewhere in this darkness there's a life that I can't find."_   
  
_"Turn your pretty redhead babe and forget that I exist."_   
  
Review's:   
  
Vuru Neno- Well I'm glad you hopped aboard. I'll try and keep you happy. Having a critic will keep me on my toes. NightSpirit-Well Ash Wednesday's March 5th, but I got a chapter out anyway. Thanks so much for the review. Evon-Thanks for the encouragement, and thanks for the review. MagicGirl2- Well you have to wait to see exactly what Draco needs from her. J/L means James/Lily. Blaze-fury- Aren't mental filing cabinets cool as well as troll eating demons. Thanks for the review it was really sweet. NC-kat2002-Thanks and to answer your question, HP is nothing short of an obsession for me, so it will be greatly tempting. Katrina-Thanks Percy's not exactly hard to write. Pompous jerk. (Sorry Percy fans but he is.) Last but most definitely not least: VirtualFaerie- You know you rock, so there's no real reason for me to even comment. Sunburn Draco completely sprung from your sweet review. Thanks for absolutely everything. 


	8. Chapter VIII: Visions, Arguments, and Cr

Ginny thumbed the worn purple fabric of her work robe. It wasn't unusual for her not to receive a compliment on the color; but Draco's catty insult had imbedded itself into her mind. He had expressed to her that purple was a weak and awful color that clashed horribly with her dreadful red hair. She should wear bold colors: white, black and she could possibly even pull off the right shade of red. Deep green would look exceptionally divine.   
  
She let her hands run over the different colored fabrics, resting on a shiny metallic material. She pulled it from it's home, between a black and a green dress. It shimmered gold in the sunlight from the shops wide windows.   
  
_Gold._ Ginny thought with a smile. _Draco would loathe it._   
  
The dress itself wouldn't fit perfectly, she could tell by measuring it with her eye. But that didn't matter between her and Colin they could tailor almost anything. It was a hobby they had begun while still attending Hogwarts. They had found enjoyment in mending the many holes discovered in her secondhand school robes.   
  
Colin often asked her why she never shrunk or tailored her oversized jumpers. She replied 'It would simply seem ungrateful and awfully rude to alter a gift.' He just laughed at her and forced another chocolate sweet into her mouth.   
  
"What do you make of this one?" She asked, holding the gold dress to her chest. It was too long and the hem and extra fabric bunched on the shops wood floor.   
  
"God no." Colin replied.   
  
"Why not? I know it's a bit large but.."   
  
"But nothing," he interrupted. His eyes never leaving the popular quidditch costume in his hand. "The size isn't the problem. It's those gaudy brass tones, they would look awful with your freckles."   
  
Ginny was stung and forcefully hung the gold dress back on the circular rack.   
  
"Thanks." She sarcastically replied, pushing past more dresses and fairytale costumes on the rounder.   
  
"You know, Ginny." Colin said thoughtfully. "I might like salsa dancing, enjoying good wine, and bringing you to the cinema, but I truly do not fancy shopping with you."   
  
"Why not?" She narrowed her brown eyes at him. Her hand resting atop a traditional vixenish vampire ensemble.   
  
He sighed still not looking up from the quidditch costume he had been holding. "Don't look at me like that. I'm simply saying it's not my way of a spending a great day."   
  
"Then please inform me of how exactly you would spend your great day?" She interrupted. Colin was quickly grating her temper and it was taking everything she had in her not to snap at him.   
  
"Well," He began, pulling a short ruffled costume from a rounder with his free hand. He stepped to Ginny and thrust the dress to her chest. We start off finding you the perfect costume for the Annual Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes Charity Masquerade Ball."   
  
Turning to the traveling mirror, she held the costume to her chest. The short red dress and white pinafore fell a few inches past her knees. A small plastic bag holding the matching red cloak and a colorful instructional card, flashing hair extending and curling charms, was attached to the hanger.   
  
"Little Red Riding Hood?" Ginny scoffed.   
  
"Read the card." Colin ordered, ducking around another rounder.   
  
She turned the card over and read the label.   
  
"Gretel?" She asked. "As in Hansel and Gretel?"   
  
"Yes, as in Hansel and Gretel." He replied mimicking her voice. It always irritated Ginny when he mocked her. "C'mon, Gin." He pleaded. "You know we'd look sexy losing our way to grandma's house."   
  
Ginny opened her mouth to argue that he had gotten his fairytales confused, but quickly closed it. There was no use in arguing with Colin on the costume or the tale, he always won in the end.   
  
She imagined every eye turning on her laughing, as she walked into the hall, two gray eyes in particular, but dismissed it quickly. Draco wasn't going to the ball. She hadn't invited him and doubted the twins would be keen on sending him an invitation.   
  
"Treat a very pretty redhead to a late lunch. Then go home for an afternoon nap. Wake 'round eight and floo to the Leaky Cauldron; where I will have Wednesday night drinks with said red head.   
  
"Now for all this to happen you first must purchase this lovely 'Gretel' which I will buy it's equal the Hansel costume. So off you go." He pushed her in the direction of the counter.   
  
"Fine," Ginny marched to the counter, "But if I resemble a girl out of one of Ron's dirty comics or a nasty hag in anyway. I'm allowed to kill you."   
  
"Deal." Colin called, disappearing behind a rack of fairytale costumes.   
  
The man behind the counter gently took the hangered dress from her and carefully wrapped it in brown paper and bound it with white twine.   
  
"So," Ginny began, one hand holding the flap of her large shoulder bag open, while the other rummaged through her bag for her small bag of coins. Her fingers brushed the tube of a muggle cosmetic product, a day old letter from her father, a grumpy action figure one of her nephews had left, and countless other things she had forgotten to discard from her purse; then she felt cold. It felt like nothing more than a late autumn breeze against her skin but she knew it was Narcissa's small money purse.   
  
Instantly Ginny's mind was flooded with images of another world, a richer world, a colder world.   
  
_She was no longer in the safety of the costume shop, browsing with her best friend, but in a masculine furnished study. Two identical girls both with hair like spun white-gold stood facing her. They were twins, identical twins, Ginny knew from their indistinguishable appearances. Every biological and material feature equal, down to their matching lilac hair ribbons.   
  
Their pale blue eyes fell past Ginny and to the sandy haired man leaning against his dark ash desk. She was confident they couldn't see her, in visions they never could. But Ginny doubted they would have noticed if she had been present at the time.   
  
"Narcissa." He acknowledged the young girl on the right.   
  
Ginny whispered the name to herself as the girl stepped forward. Draco had told her it was his mother's purse, but she hadn't believed him at the time, as he didn't make it easy to trust him.   
  
The young Narcissa smiled opening her purple velvet purse. The same purple velvet purse Ginny was holding in her own hands. Her smile grew wider as the man filled it with silver sickles.   
  
"Thank-you, Father." Said the minature Narcissa. She took a step back, aligning herself with her sister.   
  
"Enveaus."   
  
Enveaus, the second girl stepped forward. She and her father repeated the same scene Ginny had just witnessed.   
  
"Thank-you, Father." Enveaus smiled, closing her purse and letting it dangle from it's thick cord on her wrist.   
  
"Don't spend it all in one place girls." He said turning his back to them.   
  
The two soft blonde heads turned to each other, smiled and ran from what Ginny assumed was their father's office.   
  
As one of the girls shut the door, one scene dissolved into the next. But Ginny immediately recognized her surroundings.   
  
Light-gray stoned walls, green, red, blue, and yellow banners reflecting the four houses. She was at Hogwarts on a staircase to be specific.   
  
"La Blanche, where are you off to?" A smooth voice asked from behind her.   
  
Ginny turned to come face to face with Draco Malfoy.   
  
He stood on the top stair between the two hand railings, using his long arms to block the tall blonde girl he had addressed from passing.   
  
Sharp gray eyes, pointed nose, and his trademark sneer. Ginny was positive it was Draco, but there was something amiss that confused her.   
  
Small differences not found in this double. Draco's cheeks though barely were softer, his eyes were not so much cold but amused, and Draco stood at least two inches taller.   
  
Small diffrences that she didn't understand until she heard the girl speak.   
  
"Not that it's any of your business Malfoy." A young Narcissa softly spat her future last name and Ginny had never been reminded of Draco so much. "But I was going to Hogsmeade to purchase some sweets."   
  
She dangled her tiny purse before him.   
  
"On the contrary my little betrothed but everything you do is in every way my business. When the Malfoy's invest in something they expect quality." Lucius drawled.   
  
Narcissa flipped her fine blond hair behind her shoulder and easily pushed passed him.   
  
"I'll make you love me." He teased as she walked up the staircase.   
  
As Narcissa stepped onto the landing, Ginny was thrust into another world. She wasn't surprised by the changing in scenery, it was a common trait shared by other dark artifacts. However, she was concerned with the vivid detail she was seeing them in._   
  
"Ginny."   
  
_She was standing in a bedroom now. It was dark and warm but, Ginny could smell something. This vision didn't have the welcoming odor of jasmine as the first, or the seductive mixture of pine and cologne from the second but the stale smell of medical potions and unsuccessful spells.   
  
In the lone bed lay a sick and frail but still beautiful woman. Even with her thin limp hair and thinner body, Ginny could still see evidence of Narcissa Malfoy. A flash of white from the shade of a high-backed chair caught Ginny's eye. Draco was sitting back, one hand in his fine hair the other clinched on his knee.   
  
His cold eyes weren't on his white-knuckled fist, but at the large bed that held his mother. There was something in Draco's posture and the expression on his aristocratic features that made Ginny's heart ache. She had never seen him so lost, so young, so vulnerable but also so hopeful. She couldn't understand why but she wanted to go to him, hold and comfort him._   
  
"Ginny." She heard her name a second time.   
  
"Ginny." Two warm hands gently shook her shoulders, pulling her from the vision of Narcissa and Draco.   
  
"Gin, are you okay?" Colin asked.   
  
She tried to say yes, but her voice refused to make a sound.   
  
"Ginny wake-up." Colin shook her again.   
  
"Is she okay?" Asked the store clerk. He was standing next to Colin and observing Ginny much like Harry and Hermione had that day in Hermione's office.   
  
"Does she _look_ okay?" Colin snapped.   
  
"I'm fine." Ginny said, hoarsely. Her throat felt dry and scratchy. She slowly blinked her eyes, trying not to grimace at the pain behind her lids. She would soon need her Capitis Doloris potion to delay the oncoming migraine.   
  
"Don't look fine to me darlin'." The owner offered, "What happened here, anyway?"   
  
"Nothing." Colin answered too quickly. Earning him a questioning look from the older man. "She has a syndrome." He almost yelled.   
  
"A syndrome?" The owner asked. He was slowly backing away from Ginny and Colin, and retreating behind his counter.   
  
"Yes a syndrome." There was a degree of victory in Colin's voice. "Very traumatic. Can't take her anywhere."   
  
Ginny rolled her eyes, her shaking fingers carefully digging through her shoulder bag, retrieving her own money. She put the coins on the counter and collected her parcel.   
  
"What was it this time?" Colin asked. His voice was filled with concern as they left the shop, and stepped onto the street.   
  
"Nothing." Ginny lied.   
  
"Ginny don't lie to me." Colin whispered, grabbing her by her upper arm.   
  
"I'm not." She lied, again. Colin would be so disappointed with her, if she were to tell him the truth. How could she even begin to explain what she was doing? Who she was helping? Why she was helping him.   
  
He looked her over again, "Well, are you okay? D'you want to go home?"   
  
Ginny looked at him and felt a great wave of guilt crash over her. Colin was her best friend and she was constantly lying to him, leaving him answer less and needlessly worried.   
  
"Yes mum, I'm fine. It's just sometimes I get the waves." She smiled.   
  
"That's what's wrong with you Untouchables.'" Colin forced a laugh. "Can't take you anywhere."   
  
"I thought you were taking me out to lunch?"   
  
"Lunch?" Colin smiled. "I said I was buying lunch for a pretty red-head. Where do you fit into that equation?"   
  
Colin ducked as Ginny's brown paper parcel flew over his head.   
  
*~*~*~*   
  
Draco sighed, taking a drink of his morning coffee. The warm bitter beverage stinging his tongue, seemed to compliment his foul mood. He let his eyes roam over the front-page of "The Daily Prophet."   
  
He felt a slight uneasiness about reading over his breakfast. In childhood it was forbidden to read at the table. Unfortunately, he had fallen into the bad habit of enjoying a newspaper over his pumpkin-juice and toast squares, while attending Hogwarts.   
  
_The Ministry's Most Wanted:   
  
Blaise Zabini evades Aurors, Again.   
  
The crimes stacked against, Mr. Zabini seem to be climbing higher and higher each day. The handsome deatheater, who is well known for his speciality in the Cruciatus Curse, has eluded the Ministry's finest for the past five months and has slipped once more through their fingers. My sources say, that over a weeks time, the Ministry had received numerous anonymous owls informing the authorities of Mr. Zabini's whereabouts. (Continued on Page 6)_   
  
Draco quickly flipped to the page.   
  
_The former Hogwarts' student, has been spotted as close as Paris, France and as far as Peru, wrapped in what was described from one owl as being "nothing more than a burlap sack."   
  
Ronald Weasley, The Head of The Department of Magical Law Enforcement, son of Ministry Official Arthur Weasley, and brother of future Ministry of Magic candidate Percy Weasley, had taken holiday the two weeks the valuable information came flying in. On one of these many crucial days, he was seen accompanying his well known friend Harry Potter to a Chudley Cannons Quidditch Match.   
  
When contacted for a quote the young Auror was unavailable.   
  
So, where is the young Deatheater, well it seems no one knows.   
  
-Lita Gross   
  
Photo of Blaise Zabini courtesy of The WP.   
  
Photo of Ronald Weasley by Colin Creevey._   
  
Draco was caught between amusement with Weasley and anger at Zabini as he flipped between the pages to study the contrasting photographs.   
  
The spacious cover picture was of a younger Blaise, looking smug in his Slytherin uniform. His long dark hair indistinguishable from the black material of his school robes. The black and white ink caused his eyes to look an ordinary dark gray in place of their abnormal violet shade.   
  
On the sixth page, a small photograph of Weasley nervously smiled up at him. The image of Weasley in his white uniform, his big nose speckled with gray freckles, and his floppy light-gray hair, coupled with the article made Draco smile.   
  
"Idiot." He mumbled to his empty diningroom, thinking that some things never changed.   
  
He read over the other headlines, hoping for a story to catch his eye and take his thoughts off of Blaise Zabini.   
  
_The Biggest Ticket in Town   
  
The Daily Prophet and Witch Weekly are combining their efforts to serve our readers with the details of one of the hottest balls of the year. The 6th Annual Weasley's Wizard Wheezes Halo's Eve Charity Ball, is just around the corner and the guest list is on fire.   
  
Rumored to be attending the extravagant but mysterious event, that's held every year in an unplottable location, is some of Europe's finest Wizards and Witches including, heiress to the Bertie Bott's fortune Betty Bott and beautiful French socialites the Delacour Sisters. However, this event isn't exclusive to wealthy witches and wizards alone. Rumored to attend are Elite Quidditch seekers Viktor Krum and Cho Chang, also World Quidditch Cup winner's Aiden Lynch and Roger Davies. But the list doesn't stop there, decorated Ministry Officials and War Heroes Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley will be accompanying "the-Boy-Who-Lived," himself Mr. Harry Potter.   
  
Lucky for our readers, the Prophet's star reporter and "Skeeter Prize Winner" Lita Gross with world-renowned photographer, Colin Creevey will be capturing every thrilling moment of the evening._   
  
Draco scoffed at the fall in the Prophet's ancient standards in journalism. Before and during the war it had been a reliable and highly regarded publication; but soon the owners and sold and it was now a small step away from being a tabloid.   
  
He folded it three times and neatly put it on the side of his finished plate. He took the dark napkin from his lap and put it over his breakfast plate. Soon the food and drink had vanished and were replaced with clean goblets and dinnerware.   
  
Draco waited contentedly full, for Edmund to tell him today's responsibilities. He was often glad that when his mother married his father she had brought her house-elf with her. Edmund was able to read and write and basically make Draco's life easier.   
  
He didn't have too wait long, before Edmund walked through one of the two doors into the diningroom. He had a large white scroll tied with a red ribbon wrapped in his tiny hand.   
  
"Ah, Edmund." Draco said yawning. "What are today's toils?"   
  
Edmund unrolled the scroll and read off the first line:   
  
"First off Master Malfoy needs to tends to his mother's nurse. It seems her wages aren't enough."   
  
Draco groaned. He didn't like dealing with the help and their wages. It seemed no matter how much he was willing to pay, they always wanted more. Which prompted him to let them go and start the dreaded cycle all over again. But he couldn't do such things with his mother's nurses no matter how much he disliked them.   
  
She needed twenty-four hour care and he would pay all the money they had in Gringotts and every other wizarding bank they held accounts in to get her just that.   
  
"Give her whatever she wants." He said pouting. "What's next?"   
  
"This evening Masters has a meeting with Miss. Whezzy." Edmund read off the next choir.   
  
"I knew that. What else?"   
  
"Lastly, Masters needs to talks to the Crocottas. It seems Crocottas need different orders after Master's unexpected visitor last week."   
  
Draco visibly flinched. His mind flooding with visions of sharp teeth and stripped eyes.   
  
"Must I?" He asked. "Why can't a stable boy do it?"   
  
Edmund sighed. "Young Masters knows that only Young Masters or Masters is able to controls the dogs. Nots no stable-boy."   
  
"Fine!" Draco spat standing.   
  
~*~*~*~   
  
The stagnant smell of hay assaulted Draco's nostrils as he stepped onto a large wooden crate outside the Crocottas's pen. The barn air was stiff and noisy, so he cleared his throat, hoping to gather their attention. It worked as a dozen bejewelled eyes looked up to him. The large brown half-dog, half-wolf, canines sat in a military style lineup. Each dog patiently awaiting his master's order.   
  
Draco hated the way they looked at him. Their baguette eyes glittering at him, but lacking the respect and loyalty they had held for his father. He swallowed the lump rising in his throat and held the fresh copy of The Daily Prophet he had carried with him from the Manor into the air, for all the Crocottas to see.   
  
Their eyes were immediately transfixed onto the black and white moving photo of Blaise Zabini, winking at them.   
  
"His name," Draco spoke slowly, "is Blaise Zabini."   
  
"Blaise." Some barked. "Zabini." Other's howled.   
  
"A week ago, this man," Draco pointed to the picture for emphasis, "invaded your Master's home, and threatened him.   
  
He watched with a sick delight as their eyes turned savage. His mind filling with the things the magical beasts would do with Zabini.   
  
"That's right," he encouraged, "and if he is to step one foot into Malfoy Park. Your master wishes for him to not step out."   
  
A small squeak disturbed the quiet air the dogs turned in unison to their stall gate. It always unnerved Draco the way they seemed to move as one. Running as a perfect machine was a trait shared by their entire breed. It made them the perfect predator, but also fickle and just creepy.   
  
Draco lazily let his eyes roam to the target of his animals, expecting to find a lost house-elf knee high in hay, or the on-duty stableboy, Jack, but it was neither.   
  
Trembling under her short brown suede coat and black messenger bag, Ginny stared in disbelief at the conversing canines. Her large brown eyes were wide as the dogs stood defensively, their multiple rows of sharp yellow teeth bared, and a low guttural growl, that made Draco involuntarily shiver escaped them.   
  
_"Unten."_ He ordered. He didn't raise his voice but they immediately retreated, each disgruntled beast taking their place in line.   
  
He turned to Ginny from his high perch. Looking down on her, she stood silently, but her gaze had shifted from the crocottas to him. He tried to read her eyes, measure how much she had learned while standing there unnoticed.   
  
From the expression she wore of equal parts horror and confusion, Draco felt a since of uneasiness.   
  
He stepped down from the wooden crate, despite landing lightly on the barns dirt floor, his black buskins made an audible click. That seemed to echo in the now quiet barn.   
  
"Not that I'm not happy to see you, but what in the bloody hell are you doing here?" He asked, trying to sound as casually as he could.   
  
*~*~*~*   
  
"What in the hell are those Mal-" Ginny started, but in one swift movement Draco had abadoned his newspatper and pinned her against a gate. He covered her mouth with his hand, the broadside of his pinky pressed against her nose and his palm comfortably encased her lips.   
  
"No names." He hissed. His face bent down and inches from her own. The abrupt motion had jerked her from her fear and confusion of the vocalizing dogs.   
  
"Mal!" They snapped their jaws, jumping at the thick wooden gate between her and them. She couldn't see them as Draco had her back pressed to the fence, but she imagined their sharp teeth dripping with white foam.   
  
_"Zu ihren ecken!"_ Draco commanded, not removing his hand from Ginny's mouth. His hand smelled of a sweet coffee he'd had for breakfast and fresh newspaper, but his spicy cologne was a little stronger. Ginny wasn't sure if it was the cologne or her fear of the dogs but she felt dizzy.   
  
She kept her eyes trained on his trying to figure out what was happening. Draco stared over her shoulder between two planks watching the dogs. His hair had grown too long and the white tips brushed the bottom of his cheek bones.   
  
"Those dogs were talking." Ginny mumbled against his hand. She didn't know if Draco understood, because his only response was a lifted pale eyebrow.   
  
"Of course they were." He hissed. His eyes locked with hers and he removed his hand but not his body. "They are Crocottas."   
  
"Crocottas?" Ginny asked in disbelief.   
  
"Yes, Crocottas. You know the Indian dog-wolf."   
  
Ginny shrugged her shoulders.   
  
"Learns the names of unsuspecting traveling gits, beckons to them, then rips them to shreds."   
  
"Sorry. No."   
  
"Striped gemmed-eyes foretell the future."   
  
"Wait you mean _those_ Crocotta's. How in the hell did you get one of those?"   
  
"Actually, I have six." He leaned onto his hand.   
  
"Six?"   
  
"Yes, We-" His eyes quickly moved through the planks again. "Weasley six." He whispered,"Merlin, is your whole lot this daft."   
  
"You mind your's Malfoy, and I'll mind mine." Ginny murmured, regretting the words as they passed off her lips. The image of Narcissa laying bedridden flashed through her mind, and she felt a wave of guilt.   
  
A flicker passed behind his pale eyes and Ginny was sure if she hadn't been this close to him, she would have never seen it. She looked again but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared.   
  
"I'll take that into consideration." He smirked.   
  
"So," She began, ducking from under Draco's arm and trying to flow their conversation into a more pleasant subject. "Where did you buy them from?"   
  
"My great-grandfather Augustus Malfoy, was given them as wedding gifts." He whispered walking beside Ginny as they left the barn and walked out into the gray light of the late evening.   
  
"Oh." Ginny answered, thinking it odd that giving homicidal dogs as a gift was normal to Draco. "They were presents."   
  
"Well, it's not like great-grandfather was going to buy them. You do know it's illegal to actually buy one, right."   
  
"It's illegal to _own_ one."   
  
"On the contrary my little Untouchable. It's illegal to buy one, not own one." He teased. "Loopholes love. Loopholes."   
  
Ginny was reminded of her vision of Lucius and Narcissa, as she and Draco walked across the Manor's bright green lawn on their way to the castle and a question tugged at her mind.   
  
"Draco how's your mother?" She sprung the question, not knowing any other way to come around to it.   
  
"My mother's fine." He said, looking at her suspiciously.   
  
"Now back to the crocottas. See this ring," he lifted his well manicured hand to her face as they took the first concrete steps. On his long index finger he wore a large silver ring bearing a unique green stone."This is was taken from Mercee'. He was given to me on my first birthday by mother's sister Enveaus. She thought a crocotta would be a delightful pet for a young boy. My father disagreed and unfortunately by the time I reached five years, I had developed the nasty little habit of bringing the disgusting beast into my room. My father found out and quickly disposed of my only pet."   
  
"I'm sorry." She replied. She didn't know exactly know how to respond to Draco's little emotional out pour chiefly since it was void of emotion.   
  
"Don't be." He said matter-of-factly, "I stopped suffering from fleabites and got a _lovely _ring out of it."   
  
They walked in silence to the manor's large doors before either spoke again.   
  
Ginny's curiosity over Draco's ill mother was overwhelming. She understood that he enjoyed delving into everyone else's personal woes and declaring them to the world, but when it came to himself, he was a rather private person.   
  
"Draco, are you sure your mother's okay?" She asked, nervously.   
  
He stopped short from walking through the open door and turned to her. His gray eyes narrowed.   
  
"What do you mean?" He asked evenly.   
  
"Is she okay? Is she ill?" She asked, genuinely concerned. Maybe she had not seen a past vision, but a future one. It wouldn't be the first time, that her foresight had been wrong or crossed.   
  
"Of course my mother's okay." He snapped confidently, but their was something in his demeanor that made Ginny want to ask again.   
  
"There is no need to snap at me," She argued, "all I asked was how your mother was?"   
  
"My mother's fine." He growled, "How's yours? Still dead I presume or have there been in new developments?"   
  
Ginny didn't exactly know why her hand was stinging so badly or why she had hot tears in her eyes till she looked up to Draco who was holding a hand to his now pink cheek.   
  
"You slapped me." He said in amazement.   
  
"Damn right I slapped you." Ginny hissed, finding herself. Her emotions were running wild from anger to grief and it was hard to concentrate on her task. "I've taken everything from you. Your childish tantrums, your catty insults, the hurtful words you've thrown at me everyday I've worked for you. But nothing, Nothing!" She yelled seeing him clearly in her anger. "Will allow you to ever speak ill of my mother? Do you understand."   
  
Draco looked down at her, his eyes for once revealing his emotion of disbelief.   
  
"So are you coming up to work?" He asked.   
  
"No, Draco." She said quietly, her throat sore and voice hoarse from yelling. "You can save your mother without me."   
  
Ginny turned from him and the door, to take one of the many gray-stoned paths that led to the front of the manor. She wiped the angry tears off her burning cheeks and the blurring ones from her eyes.   
  
She climbed into her coach feeling something stronger than anger, she was feeling a betrayal and sadness that she hadn't felt in a very long time.   
  
*~*~*~*   
_  
The Second of March   
  
I have lived a hundred years and fed off many races, but I have never tasted flesh as sweet as that of the beautiful caramel women of New Orleans. Their blended blood of alcohol and southern sweets is like a fine wine to me.   
  
I have spent the last few days feeding off of_   
  
Draco dropped the journal he was reading onto his desk. Ever since his spat with Ginny a day ago, he had been feeling an overwhelming since of _something._ He wasn't firm on what the nagging feeling was, but was content in the fact it was quickly morphing into aggravation.   
  
He stared at the small black Egyptian artifact on his dark desk. His mother had bought the miniature sphinx for him the Christmas of his fifth year. It was charmed to help with his studies; riddling him on his exam questions.   
  
Draco never used it. He thought it was dense and useless but always kept it atop his desk in plain view. He didn't want to harm his mother's feelings.   
  
But this evening he was almost hypnotized by it. His eyes trained on it, as thoughts of Ginny swam in his head.   
  
She had told him that she didn't want to and wouldn't help him anymore, but she couldn't have possibly meant it. What he had said wasn't _that_ bad, was it?   
  
He groaned in helplessness.   
  
What was he supposed to do now?   
  
Ginny had a majority of the books, Zabini's dagger, and above all Ginny knew too many of his secrets.   
  
What if she decided to find the map on her own. How was he going to succeed when Ginny was holding all the cards?   
  
_"But she's not,"_ the smooth voice of his mind told him. _"You still have one thing she doesn't."_   
  
*~*~*~*   
  
"Pansy. Pansy. Pansy. How _are_ the trepidations of motherhood working for you?" Draco Malfoy, a man she had not seen since her wedding day, asked. He was casually leaning on his elbow, against the dark oak mantle of her study's stone fireplace.  
  
"How did you get passed the gaurds?" She asked, slamming the Holm-oak door and trying to keep her voice from betraying her anger. "Who let you in here?"  
  
"I'm not going to say but, don't let anyone tell you a galleon here and a death threat there, won't get you far in life." He smirked. "But I must say the reason's I'm here are _much_ more important."  
  
"So, it's not a rumor, you really are pissing away your inheritance. Your father always said you were the bad seed. Did he not?" She matched his smirk, taking a seat in one of the many uncomfortable chairs arranged away from the fireplace.  
  
"That one really hurt." He walked silently around her chair, a delicate pale hand on his black button-down shirt; and over where if he had one his heart would be, in mock pain. He sat in the dark velvet chair across from her, his cold gray eyes wandering over the family paintings. They lingered on one, before coming back to lock with her's.  
  
"Decent portrayal of the hag, by the way how is your whore of a mother?"  
  
"Dead. And your lunatic of a Father?"   
  
"Not near enough." He smiled. It was a cruel smile that didn't reach his eyes. Pansy knew Draco didn't mean what he said of his father, but neither had she.  
  
"How have you been holding up without your mother?" He continued, "What has it been since she passed? Three years?   
  
"Four, but let's skip the idle chat, Draco. Tell me why you're here and what it will cost to make you go away." She asked.  
  
A service door opened and her first floor house-elf Bink, cloaked in her pink toga, sidestepped into the room. She was delicately balancing two small trays, each holding two pieces of Pansy's antique Chinese tea set.  
  
"What makes you believe that I want something?" He asked, lightly taking the delicate blue and white tea cup and saucer from the offered tray.  
  
"After three years, Draco Malfoy shows up in my study out of the blue. Do give me some credit darling." She drawled, leaving the saucer and only taking the matching cup. The edges were hot from the tea and she wanted to wince but she wouldn't give Draco the pleasure.  
  
"Very perceptive, Parkinson."   
  
She bit the side of her cheek at the use of her maiden name.   
  
"It's Price." She forced through gritted teeth.  
  
"So, I've heard." He drawled.   
  
"You were at the wedding."   
  
"Was I?" He asked, lazily. His gaze wandering across the paintings again. Pansy had often wondered if there was anyone or anything that held Draco's attention longer than ten seconds.  
  
She was still in mild shock to see Draco sitting across from her. The last time she had seen him was the evening of her wedding day, he had been dancing with his mother.  
  
His physical appearance had altered little. The changes were mainly of a late adolescent boy maturing into a young man. His white-blonde hair was shorter and at measure a shade lighter. His shoulders looked broader under his black cloak but other than that, he could still be considered disgustingly young. But yet somehow there was something different about him.  
  
From the _'Prophet'_ and other publications she had followed him loosely. He was still apart of one of the richest wizard families in Europe and the Malfoy stock hadn't dwindled a knut.  
  
So, why was he here?   
  
What were these _reasons_ he spoke of.   
  
"What do you want?" She snapped, letting her curiosity and aggravation with him slip.   
  
"Tsk. Tsk. No reason to get snappy." He patronized. "I simply have a proposition for you, my little Egyptian Princess." He offered smiling, that alluring smile that seemed to have dissolved her robes and inhibitions, while at Hogwarts.   
  
*~*~*~*~*  
  
An antique teacup shattering on the marble floor was the only sound that echoed through the large study, and Draco braced himself for Pansy's assault.  
  
"You want me to what?!" She yelled standing on her feet. Her face had gone an unnatural shade of red, which seemed to only be magnified by the pink ruffled robes she wore.   
  
"I simply want you to come to Cairo with me and decipher some hieroglyphics." He repeated, patiently taking a sip of his warm tea. Pansy really could be quiet theatrical. "So are you going to help me or not?"  
  
"Not." She replied crossing her arms over her chest. Her thin mouth set in a straight line, and her pug-nose slightly lifted into the air.  
  
"Then explain to me why." He pressed. He felt his temper thinning. He was not accustomed to being told no, especially from Pansy.  
  
"Because nothing is simple with you Draco. Nothing." She calmly said, sitting back in her chair and crossing her legs. "And I've got responsibilities now, my daughter, my estate, my husbands business.."  
  
"Don't you have nannies?" He interrupted. He was honestly shocked at the meaningful position Pansy held her daughter.  
  
"And most important, I'm not associated with you people anymore."   
  
"You people?" He asked curiously. "What do you mean by you people?"   
"Let' not play that game. The servants warned me Zabini was trying to get onto the estate two weeks ago. My servants are very loyal, Draco. I'm surprised you made it this far. You must tell me how you truly did it, so I can prepare for future attacks."   
  
"Get used to disappointment." He said flatly.  
  
He knew Pansy was telling the truth about Zabini. Simply because she had no reason to lie.  
  
"So, no matter what I say. I won't change your mind?" He asked.  
  
He was growing tired of fighting. Losing his civility and letting the sole string that was his father pull at his heart seemed easier than arguing with this dull cow all evening.  
  
"Sorry to have disturbed you." He apologized. "I thank you for the tea, but I must be going."  
  
"Don't worry I won't keep you."Pansy said stiffly.  
  
He put his teacup and saucer on the offered tray and rose from his chair. He was at the door before he faced her again.  
  
"Though, I must ask one last question Pansy." He turned to her his face completely unreadable. "How is your little girl?  
  
Pansy's face quickly drained of it's red color, and he was sure had she not been sitting her knees would have buckled.  
  
"You wouldn't?" She whispered in disbelief.  
  
"Would I?" He asked innocently. "It would be such a shame to see something unfortunate happen to that bundle of red curls and blue eyes.  
  
Draco knew his eyes were glittering with malice, and he wondered if he might appear anything like a crocotta. Because, he most definitely felt like one.  
  
"I'll do it." Pansy whispered so softly, Draco didn't quite hear her.   
  
"Come, again?" He asked, with a satisfied smirk on his lips. His father had once said that with the right incentive you could make anyone do anything for you.  
  
"I'll do it." She screeched at him. Her blue eyes filled with tears. "But only this one time and you must promise to me that you'll never harm Rose. Ever!"  
  
"Deal. Now, we're both under wizarding contract, you know."   
  
"Yes." She answered, her eyes bearing hatred into his.  
  
Draco had never imagined to see so much anger coming from her, and was surprised that he didn't really care.  
  
The two stood in a tense silence staring at each other and Draco was getting bored when Pansy spoke again.  
  
"Is there anything else I can do for you?" She asked flatly.  
  
"Actually," He began lightly, "I just need one more favor."  
  
  
  
A/N: Okay. Okay. I know this was a long and boring chapter, especially after such a long hiatus, but I guarantee the next chapter is much better and Draco's not such an arse.  
  
Also, I'm looking for a beta to help with my grammar and such so if anybody's up for the job. Just write me.  
  
Disclaimers:   
  
The characters: Don't own anything they all belong to JK.   
  
Beasts: Crocottas: Are from 'The Book of Dragons and Other Mythical Beasts' by Joseph Higg  
  
Must also note that I've been quoting movies and haven't even noticed. Sorry, 'The Princess Bride' and 'Gone with the Wind.'  
  
Reviewers: Katrina: Thanks so much. You know I love your story too. Fiery-dragon: I'm glad you love it and our putting some of the plot pieces together. I hope I don't disappoint. Anaxandra: I'm happy you took notice. Thanks for the compliments: I try hard to keep the conversations fluent, the story intriguing and most of all the characters in-character. I have to admit I'm happy you called me out on Draco being over dramatic, I guess I kind of expect spoiled-brats (knowing so many of them) that they are a tad on the dramatic side. Draco's sunburn will comeback up and I'll explain why he was so ignorant to it. Kaelli Karali: I'm glad you like it, and hope to hold onto you as a reader. Danielle: Thanks so much for the compliment. I'm sorry I couldn't get the chapter out quick enough. Congratulations you got almost all of them correct thanks for guessing. The one that no-one got is 'Learn to Crawl' it's on the Spiderman Soundtrack. Blazefury-My smut princess. I have to say your writings are beautiful and I can't wait to read more of 'Unexpected Tendencies.' The Colin-Ginny relationship is going to get even closer, so I'm delighted you like it. Evon-Thanks for the encouragement, and don't worry Mr. Malfoy will be doing all kinds of moves in future chapters. Amber/VF-or as I refer to say my heart of the fandom. You've been their since the beginning.(tear) Just teasing. Thanks for saying you liked the way I write D/G, that they're different. It's compliments like that, that kept me writing, and really should be given to you.


	9. Chapter IX: Dances, Dreams, and Dangerou

A/N: I know it's been too long since I updated and I apologize. I'm sorry.   
  
Dedicated to: **Tegan,**_(__Thank you for your awesome editing skills. I cherished every _**_blue_**_- word, correction, and suggestion. I think you took my work and made it the best it could be.__) ****_**VirtualFaerie,**___(Thank you for your kindness, and patience, and the time you've dedicated to this story and my whiny e-mails. It really does mean more than I say.)_** and Blazefury **_( "My Smut Princess" You didn't get a chance to beta this one, but I thought you deserved one anyway. You've always said nice things and your just too clever not to get a thankyou. *Patiently awaits Smut.* ) _You are all wonderfully talented authors who have helped me get these stupid, grammatically incorrect, misspelled, makes no since, chapters out. And for that I **Thank You**.   
  
Chapter IX: Dances, Dreams, and Dangerous Dragons or (What wouldn't I do to Ron Weasley?)  
  
Ginny let her forehead fall to the folder on her desk. She had failed miserably at getting any sleep. Her night had been filled with tossing and turning, while visions of Draco and his mother floated around in her mind.  
  
Had you asked Ginny two months ago, if a suffering Draco Malfoy would have troubled her, she would have replied that whatever happened he likely deserved it. But the exposed pained easily seen on his handsome face as he sat hiding like a child in the shadow of a high-backed chair; his eyes full of sadness as they watched his mother; more than made her heart ache. His overwhelming feelings of helplessness and despair were still as fresh in her senses as the first day she had touched his mother's money purse and received the vision. No one deserved to go through such an awful affair, not even Draco.   
  
She spent the last few days fighting with herself about Draco's intentions. If finding the map was solely for his mother's benefit, then she should feel guilt for not wanting to help him. But if his objectives leaned towards more sinister things, then she should feel guilt for not telling Ron sooner, for not swallowing her anger and staying to investigate him further.  
  
Draco Malfoy conquering the world and rising up to be the next all powerful Dark Lord, she laughed heartily to herself for thinking it. _How melodramatic was that?_  
  
Unfortunately, her feelings tilted toward the former.   
  
"Ugh," she groaned, internally. How had he done it, again? How had he carelessly insulted her, but somehow turned her into the guilt-filled party?  
  
But she couldn't give into her weakness. She would have to live with the guilt of not helping him. She knew she could; she lived with unyielding guilt now. It never failed, that tiny twinge of regret she felt every time she was in the company of Colin, Hermione, or even her sister-in-law Penelope. Memories of their youthful bodies laying dormant in the Hospital wing because of a mistake she had made with a diary. However, she had never Apparated to a small town outside Colin or Hermione's house only to Apparate home, again. She had never annoyed Colin or Hermione's well tempered chauffeur to the point of being threatened (Miss. Weasley if you'd like to go to the Manor, I'll gladly bring ya', but if you keep popping in every hour, I'm going to have to owl Mr. Malfoy.) She had never gotten Holly to distract Richard in Classifieds, so she could illegally borrow Colin or Hermione's file  
  
Against everything she feared, she still wanted to help Draco, but she couldn't excuse what he had so heartlessly said.  
  
_"My mother's fine," he had growled. "How's yours? Still dead I presume or have there been any new developments?"_  
  
His careless stance and smooth tactless voice from that evening were perfectly imprinted in her memory. But contended with the warm recollection she had of him relaxing behind his desk a sly childlike grin on his handsome face from a clever joke she had told him.  
  
Realizing that while in her current state of exhausted, dwelling on the situation was a futile effort, Ginny tried to rid herself of all thoughts. As her mind cleared, the words on the paper in front of her became blurred, and her eyelids became heavy, dropping as she surrendered to her fatigue. The sweet hum of Holly's voice singing along to the Wizarding Wireless, the hypnotizing strum of Peter's fingertips against his pine desktop as he looked over a new file--it was too much to fight against and she quickly fell into a deep sleep.  
  
_Ginny stood alone on the wooden porch of the Burrow, the grass on the lawn a mixture of green and gold in the summer sun, the smell of freshly baked bread wafting from the house.   
  
"'ello Gin-bug," greeted an eleven year-old Colin Creevey. He was camera-less and looked tiny wearing Ron's old maroon Weasley sweater. Curiously the golden R had been knitted backwards. "I'm going to learn to fly today."   
  
"Are you?" asked Ginny. Not finding it odd that in her dream state, Colin was eleven, wearing Ron's sweater, and preparing himself for a flying lesson. "And who is going to teach you?"   
  
"That would be me," declared Draco walking onto the porch. Oddly he was wearing a Gryffindor Quidditch uniform. Ginny recognized it as Harry's by the small rip at the hem of the scarlet robe, which resulted from a difficult match with Ravenclaw. "You don't expect him to learn anything from that hag Hooch do you?" He imitated the flying instructor's voice, "That's not where you place your hands," sounding a lot like a screeching owl. "Rubbish," he grumbled.   
  
Colin laughed.   
  
"Well, that's enough of that Creevey, were we're burning sunlight," he said taking the first steps down from the porch.   
  
"Aye, aye, captain," saluted Colin. Three fingers lifted at his wrinkleless brow. "See ya 'round love," he turned to Ginny and with that he disappeared off the porch.   
  
"Have fun," Ginny smiled as she watched Draco and Colin run broomless into the garden. Then something different filled her senses, and Ginny turned away from them towards the house.  
  
"Mum," she said, smiling as her late mother walked to stand next to her.   
  
"Oh, Ginny dear," her mum replied, her voice as sweet as honey. "How have you been?"   
  
"I'm doing wonderfully," she lied, even feeling guilt in her dream.  
  
"You can't lie to me here, Virginia Ann," her mother started."You may be able to fool everyone out there all you like, but not in here."  
  
"I know," she said her voice cracking with unshed tears, "I'm sorry."   
"S'alright," Mum soothed, grabbing Ginny and pulling her into a warm embrace. Ginny felt so heavenly being in her mother's tender arms, she never wanted to leave. She longed to be ten-years old again, when she was ignorant to pain and betrayal. But this was only a dream, it couldn't last, and she knew that.  
  
"I've missed you so much," she cried into her mother's shoulder. "You haven't the slightest clue, how much I need you."   
  
"And you my dear, haven't the slightest clue on how much the people in your life need you," answered Mum, smoothing Ginny's hair with a small plump hand. "How much a particular boy needs you."  
  
"Colin, doesn't need me, Mum," Ginny laughed, inhaling her mother's familiar smell of fresh baked pies. "He just keeps me 'round for decoration."   
  
"I wasn't talking about him," said Mum, her voice deadly serious.   
  
"Then who?" she asked. Ginny had no other 'boy' in her life besides Colin. White hair and a smirk fleeted past her mind. 'No, he would never need me,' she thought.   
  
"Can you think of no one who could benefit from your gifts?" Mum asked.   
  
"Gifts?" she scoffed, reluctantly pushing away from the warmth of her mother. "You call this stupid overspill, left inside me a Gift."  
  
"It is a gift, Ginny. Unwanted? Yes, but a gift none the less. Given to you for reason's I'll never know, but there's a reason for everything," she said sternly. Her brown eyes narrowing as she stepped away from Ginny and into the kitchen. "My goodness, how often have I told you that?"   
  
"Don't start spouting nonsense to me. You're not there!" she yelled, her voice cracking again, as she followed her mother, she found herself walking, not into the kitchen, but rather into Draco's office. "Bloody hell, you're not even real, just some part of my subconscious that's decided to manifest into you while I'm sleeping."   
  
"That's not true, and you know it," said Mum, calmly walking to stand by Draco's large desk. The black high-backed chair he always inhabited was turned around and whoever was sitting in it was concealed from her.   
  
"No, it is true," she answered, "I've seen someone about these, Mum. Her name's Hannah. She works at the Ministry. She says you're not real, just a guilt that resides in a far corner of my mind; that the things you say are only things that I need to tell myself; that if it wasn't you it would be someone else."  
  
"Like who?," a silky voice asked as the chair swiveled around, "Me?"  
Ginny needn't see him to know who sat in the chair. His neat black hair combed down the middle, his beautiful eyes boring into her. His cruel smile, mocking her as he chased her around her dreams. Never catching her, but always so close.  
  
"Have you told your little friend about me?" he asked.   
  
"Wake-up, Ginny!" she told herself, turning quickly to the door. She nearly cried out to find it was no longer a dark stained oak door, but sweating fungus covered gray stones. She cringed knowing where she was, under Hogwarts Castle, in his Chamber.   
  
"It's not going to work," Tom cooed in her ear, wrapping his firm hands around her waist, squeezing till she winced. "I've caught you this time and Potter's not here to save you."   
  
"Shut-up," growled Ginny, through gritted teeth. "You're not real."   
  
"No one cares enough about you to defy me," he continued ignoring her. "Not your mum, not your Colin, not your Charlie, and certainly not your precious Draco. No one wants you Ginny. No one."   
  
"Not Real! Just a dream," she repeated to herself, struggling against his grip. "Not real. Just a dream."   
  
"Keep telling yourself that Gin," he mocked in her ear.  
  
"Wake-up Ginny!" she screamed again, shoving her hand into her mouth. She bit down hard on the flesh between her index finger and her thumb._   
  
She woke with a start, the taste of copper in her mouth. She still had the curve of her hand between her teeth and quickly pulled it from her mouth, putting it between the folds of her green robes. There was an strange residual ache along her sides, and she wasn't sure why.  
  
"Ginny are you okay?" asked Peter, putting a cool hand to her sweaty brow.   
  
"Yeah," Holly chimed in, "You were wailing over here, like a banshee."   
  
"I'm fine," Ginny said closing her eyes, not feeling fine at all. Loved that sentence. The memories of her dream slipping from her, like water through her fingers. "It's just- you know- the dreams."   
  
"Maybe you should see Hannah," Peter offered, walking to his desk.   
  
"Why? What's the big deal? We all have 'em. It's what she gave us the potions for," said Holly. She was already sitting behind her desk.  
  
Ginny let out a sigh of relief. She adored Hannah Abbot-Macmillian even more than her colleagues did, but she had begun being short with Ginny. It wasn't Hannah's fault. She warned Ginny that using too much Sleeping Draught wasn't healthy, but Ginny refused to mind her advice, much to Hannah's annoyance.  
  
"Holly's right," Ginny smiled, weakly. "Colin had me up late last night."   
  
"Did he now?" insinuated Holly, in her ignorance.   
  
"Oh, shut it," said Ginny, smiling playfully, picking up her oversized eagle quill. She would let Holly believe what she wanted as long as the focus was off her.   
  
Holly opened her mouth to say something else, but shut it at the appearance of a tall figure in their doorway.   
  
"Ah, Ginny," said Seamus, laying a thick brown folder onto Ginny's paper littered desk.   
  
"What's this?" asked Ginny. Her two co-workers were looking at her with great interest.   
  
"Zabini," he answered, "it seems Ron wants you to look over the loot again."   
  
"But I've looked it over a thousand times," she said.  
  
"Really? A thousand?" asked Seamus, playfully.   
  
"Don't you have somewhere to be?" she replied flatly.  
  
She opened the dark-brown file, and Blaise Zabini's handsome face looked up at her. His long black hair was pulled back, showing her the intensity of his eyes. Ginny had seen eyes like that before; they were different in color, but they held the same arrogant certainty.  
  
"Not particularly," he answered smiling at Holly. Holly giggled tossing her fine blonde hair behind her shoulder.   
  
Ginny groaned. _Why did all guys think they were so charming?_  
  
*~*~*~*   
  
Draco looked down from atop the flight of stairs he'd just climbed, surprised that he wasn't panting. '_Had the Ministry gotten smaller?'_ he thought, walking along the corridor. He hadn't toured the Ministry of Magic since he was a child about to begin Hogwarts, and his memories were of long staircases, tall ceilings, and big grumpy wizards. Now the staircases were short, the halls cramped, and every room seemed to be filled with cheery young adults. It all seemed so different.  
  
When Draco had arrived, the front desk had been deserted. _'An early evening for an incompetent employee,'_ he had thought in passing, deciding to take the task of finding Ginny's office on his own.  
  
He lazily walked down the first floor hall searching for a door bearing Ginny's name, or her department, though he wasn't entirely sure what the name of it was. All the doors brandished names for Mediwitches and Mediwizards.  
  
The second floor was much the same. Though the offices were no longer inhabited by Mediwitches, its departments held no interest for Draco. He walked swiftly down the hall, easily sliding past two witches and continued onto the stairwell. He took the steps two at a time until he reached the third landing; and when he looked down the hall, he felt ready to surrender, as this hall held twice the number of doors then the last. He took a deep breath to compose himself and remember the reason he was here: To find Ginny Weasley.  
  
He hadn't spoken with her in a little over a week, and she had failed to reply to any of the many owls he'd had sent to her. He had tolerated her ignoring him, but this morning she had purposely missed an appointment they'd had scheduled. And this came on top of his new 'employee' Pansy's inability to read anything other than the journalistic trash, _The Daily Prophet_ and _Witch Weekly_. She seemed to be incapable of doing anything related to research, and he finally told her to just go home. Between Pansy's uselessness and the nurse's report on his mother's deteriorating health, Draco was feeling embarrassingly desperate. He had to find the map as soon as possible, and he knew in order to accomplish that task, he'd need to get Ginny's help again. And that's how he found himself on third landing in the Ministry of Magic.  
  
"See you tomorrow, Holly," a light and familiar voice bid farewell, causing Draco to look up. His eyes were met with a tiny figure covered in oversized green robes. Her back was to him, but he could recognize that knot of unruly red hair, anywhere.  
  
"Bye Ginny," answered a voice from inside the small room.   
  
Ginny walked with a strange step that was far from graceful. Draco had spent time studying her -for research purposes- and decided that grace was one of the many traits that Ginny Weasley did not have. Walking and digging in her black shoulder bag, seemed to be difficult for her, as she continued down the hall bumping into many displeased wizards. He almost chuckled when she finally retrieved the item she'd been searching for. When she let her hair fall from its knot and pulled the colourful wool-cap over her crown of red hair.  
  
Without the distraction of the shoulder bag she safely reached her destination--a spacious room filled with many wizards and witches. The sign, above the large opening to the room, read: **The Point: Apparate, Disapparate, and Portkeys**.   
  
"Weasley!" a brunette called to Ginny as she stepped into the room. She was about Ginny's age and looked familiar, but Draco couldn't place her.  
  
*~*~*   
"Hi Connie," Ginny greeted over the popping sounds of wizards Disapparting.   
  
Connie Smith was standing amongst a small group of witches. She had been a Ravenclaw in Ginny's year. After being top in their class at Hogwarts, she was immediately given a job at the Ministry. Ginny didn't actually like Connie or her small group of former Ravenclaws, but she smiled politely at them, anyway.   
  
"So where are you going?" the lanky brunette asked.   
  
"Diagon Alley," said Ginny, pulling her wand from her green robes. It had been a long day and she was eager to put space between herself and the Ministry.   
  
"At this time of day?" asked Connie, laughing. "That's not a very good idea."   
  
"And why's that?" asked Ginny, stiffly. She was tired and not in the mood to listen to a haughty former Ravenclaw.   
  
"Because, there must be a million wizards shopping right now," she said, missing the forced politeness in Ginny's tone.  
  
"Well, I'll take my chances," said Ginny smiling dryly, before she Disapparate.   
  
*~*~*   
  
Immediately after Draco overheard Ginny explain her plans to visit Diagon Alley, he Apparated there himself. He stood outside Eeylop's Owl Emporium, watching for a flash of colorful knit cap, or green robes. He spotted her walking towards him from the other side of the street just past Madam Malkin's. She stopped in-front of Flourish and Blott's where Granger and someone familiar to Draco were standing.   
  
He watched the burly boy greet Ginny with a nod of his head. Draco knew he had met him before, but couldn't place a name.  
  
_'Something to do with trees,'_ he reminded himself, trying to jog his memory. Bark, Oak, Green..."Wood," he said aloud.   
  
He crossed the street as they split-up; Wood making his way to Quality Quidditch and Supplies, as Ginny and Granger walked into Flourish and Blott's.   
  
*~*~*   
  
"So what specific book are you looking for?" asked Hermione as they poured over the shelved books.   
"_'Witch Doctor: Potions for Every Ailment.'_ Second-hand if they have it," answered Ginny. She didn't want to pay too much for a book; she was only going to use for two potions.  
  
"Ah, here it is!" shouted Hermione. Her voice sounded distant, from two stacks over. Ginny came around the corner to find Hermione standing on one of the many small ladders the owner had installed. "Here. Take it," she said, handing the large book down to Ginny.  
  
Ginny obediently took the book and stepped back, giving Hermione room to step down. She thought she caught the smell of something familiar, but it passed quickly.   
  
"So, what do you need with this book, anyway?" Hermione asked.   
  
"Sleeping Draught and _Capitis Doloris_," she answered, adding 'Bruise Be-Gone' to the list in her head.   
  
"_Capitis Doloris_?" asked Hermione, "That's pretty serious. Is it not?"  
  
"Well, I've run out again." Ginny started, turning her new book over in her hands, checking the price. _'Damn,'_ she sighed, _'Full price.'_ "And Hannah said that the Mediwitches' budget has been slashed, again. They can't afford to keep our entire department in potions and lotions, so I've decided to take matters into my own hands."   
  
"You only have three people in your department," said Hermione, walking ahead of Ginny. "Isn't that a bit drastic."   
  
"Well, I suppose," she paused, "But we do use a good deal of their resources, and it's really not fair on our part-"  
  
"Mr. Malfoy," the jovial voice of the manager floated through the stack, cutting Ginny off. "Is there anything I can help you buy...I mean find, today."   
  
Ginny's head snapped in the direction the voice was coming from. Through the stack, she could see Draco talking to the owner.   
  
"Not today, I'm just browsing thank-you." He paused, his pale eyes instinctively moving over the manager's shoulder, to lock with Ginny's briefly. "But let's say I was looking for something like a diary or journal, where might I be able to find those," he smirked.  
  
Ginny didn't hear the manager's answer, due to the ringing in her ears.   
  
"Ginny, are you ready?" asked Hermione impatiently. "Because the boys wanted to go out for a few early butterbeers, and-"   
  
"I'm ready," interrupted Ginny. "Besides after I buy this," she hoisted the heavy book to hold against her chest, "I won't be able to afford any new books for awhile."   
  
"Are you okay?" asked Hermione, "Your face's a bit red."   
  
"It's always red," she grumbled, meeting Hermione at the end of the aisle.   
  
"Don't be mad, Ginny," apologized Hermione. "That's not what I meant at all."   
  
"I know," said Ginny, as they turned onto another aisle, "I'm just teasing you. Merlin, you have the sense of humor of a Grim." She paused, _'Where have I heard that before?' _  
  
"Well, well. What do we have here?" a drawling voice asked. Ginny looked up to find Draco leaning against a stacked shelf, in his family's standard black robes, his shined black shoes crossed at the ankles.  
  
_'Always the vision of 'cool' or so he mistakenly believes,'_ thought Ginny, smiling as she remembered the picture he'd made when covered in mint-green lotion.  
  
"Granger and," he paused, his cool gray eyes running the length of Ginny's robes. With his indiscreet gaze, she felt her face burn even more. "Weasley, having an afternoon shop are we?"  
  
"Ignore him," Hermione whispered to Ginny before she passed him.   
  
"Bringing your goodies home to your useless Potter," he quietly spat, as Ginny attempted to walk by.  
  
"No," Ginny argued, hating herself for taking his bait, "And I honestly don't see how it's any of your business what _we_ do, Draco." She finished, pushing past him.   
  
"It's not, never was, and never will be," he called after her.   
  
Ginny pursed her lips, as she walked away from him and to Hermione who was saving her a place in line.  
  
Draco's smirk fell as Ginny stomped away from him. His ploy to get her to help him, wasn't going as well as he had planned. He shifted his gaze to watch Ginny struggling to balance her thick book, while digging in her oversized shoulder bag.  
  
He'd overheard her say to Granger, she wanted it secondhand, had he not. He knew that particular book didn't come cheap; each of Mother's nurses had demanded a copy.  
  
As he watched her patiently waiting in line, digging through her tote, an idea turned over in his mind.   
  
He grabbed the first book his hand touched, not bothering to read the title. While Ginny was still buried in the depths of her bag, he took the opportunity to skip her, sliding quietly between her and the next patron.  
  
"Excuse me, Malfoy, but we were next in line," the grinding haughty voice of Granger caused him to turn around.   
  
"Were you?" he asked innocently. "I didn't see anyone in line, or at least anyone worth noting," he paused, looking pointedly behind Ginny at the mildly attractive women, who were intently listening to their conversation. "Or did I?" he smiled charmingly.  
  
"Disgusting," said Ginny, glancing over her shoulder at the now giggling women, then back to him. An odd expression flickering across her face.   
  
_'Could that be jealousy?'_ Draco asked himself with a combination of amusement and a small bit of hope.  
  
"Just pay for your book, Draco," the red head spat, squashing his ounce of hope.   
  
"Draco?" he heard Granger, whisper none to quietly as he stepped up to the counter, "since when is he Draco?"  
  
"Ah," the store owner smiled embarrassed, reading the title of Draco's purchase, "_A Polyjuice of Her Own: A Witches Guide through the Ins and Outs Menopause_," he announced softly but it seemed to echo off the tiny shop's walls.  
  
"Well," said Draco, hoping that whatever fell from of his lips sounded confident or at least intelligent, "We should all be educated on such things."   
  
He felt his face burning, as Ginny's sweet giggle reached his ears. He closed his eyes, thanking Mother for the gene that helped conceal his blush.   
  
He opened his black velvet moneybag, the embroidered silver snake hissing at him, as he pulled on the cords.   
  
_'I'll give her a reason to giggle,'_ he smirked.   
  
*~*~*   
  
"Hope it's a good read, Malfoy," laughed Ginny, as the owner handed him his neatly wrapped purchase.   
  
He turned on her as she stepped up to pay for hers, his black robes laying open as he stuffed his moneybag into an inside pocket. His lips parted slightly, but instead of a snide insult, he simply sneered.  
"Now, that's odd," commented Hermione, as Ginny laid her book on the counter.  
  
The cashier quickly wrapped it in a piece of shiny purple paper, handing it back to her with a smile.  
  
"How much do I owe?" asked Ginny, ready to empty her already light money purse.   
  
"Oh, nothing, darling," he answered, "Mr. Malfoy took care of it."   
  
"He did what?!" both Hermione and Ginny asked in unison.   
  
"Took care of it," he said, waving his hand for the next customer.   
  
*~*~*   
  
"Which way did he go?" she asked Hermione, as they stepped out of the store. Her book, which Hermione had shrunk, was safely put away in her shoulder bag. She looked both ways for a sign of blonde hair or black robes, but came up with nothing.   
  
"I don't know," replied Hermione, "but I don't think it's a good idea for us to run after him."   
  
"It doesn't have to be us," Ginny said after looking both ways again, she turned left, "It can just be me."   
  
"That's not what I meant, Ginny, and don't try to spin it that way either," Hermione said, turning Ginny around by her arm.   
  
They were in front of the small alley between the Stationary shop and Quality Quidditch Supplies.   
  
"What does he think he's playing at?" asked Ginny, before realizing what she had said. Hermione was ignorant to everything that had happened between her and Malfoy, but if she were to find out, she would surely tell Ron ("it's for your own good, Ginny") and she didn't want to think of what Ron would do.  
  
"I don't know Ginny," Hermione started, "But I'm sure blindly chasing Draco Malfoy down Diagon Alley, isn't going to help."   
  
Ginny knew Hermione was right. With all the witches and wizards that were packed into Diagon Alley this evening, finding Draco would be harder than finding a needle in a haystack. "You're right," she sighed. "I'm sorry. I completely overreacted."  
  
Hermione studied Ginny for awhile before she spoke again, "Well, I have to meet Ron and Harry at the Leaky Cauldron. Did you want to come? We can discuss it with them, if you like."  
  
"No thank-you," Ginny said flatly, "I don't feel like playing the fourth wheel this afternoon."   
  
"Ginny, don't be like that," Hermione said apologetically, "You know we don't feel that way."   
  
"Yes, of course you don't. I was just teasing you again," she lied, smiling broadly at Hermione, wrinkling her nose for emphasis.  
  
"Well," said Hermione; she suddenly looked quite uncomfortable, shifting from one of her small feet to the next. "I need to go. You know how Ron and Harry get if you keep them waiting too long."  
  
"Drunk?"   
  
Hermione laughed before turning her back on Ginny. She was watching as the former Head Girl crossed the street, her brown dome bobbing through the crowd, when a warm hand covered her mouth. She murmured against it as it pulled her into the alley.  
  
Ginny kicked backwards, hitting her attacker's shin and she heard a familiar grunt. He wrapped his free arm around her sore waist, and she involuntarily whimpered. Immediately, he eased his grip.  
  
"Calm down, Weasley," demanded Draco. He was loosely holding her back against his chest, his free hand still firmly clamped over her mouth, but oddly Ginny felt her body relaxing.  
  
"What the hell are you doing, Malfoy?!" said Ginny, her words muffled against his palm, her eyes narrowed. She turned her head to try and glare at him, but a lock of fair hair blocked her vision.   
  
"We need to have a chat," he said.   
  
*~*~*   
  
He adjusted the knob on his Omnioculars to better hear the two young adults arguing in the darkening alleyway. The young woman's angry voice filtered to him, as he sat watching her from a second-story window of Quality Quidditch Supplies. He brought the Omnioculars away from his eyes and jumped away from the unfamiliar reflection in the windowpane. Chuckling to himself, he lifted the surveillance gadget back to his eyes. It was difficult adjusting to his new body. The height and weight difference was dramatic, but the worst was this body's eyesight. These eyes were clear, but weren't as sharp as his own, and were making it much more difficult for him to observe things. He clicked another knob, to examine the girl's face closer. It was easier to identify his prey this way. Her thick red hair was hidden under a colorful knit-cap, but her rust colored freckles against her pale skin screamed _'I'm a Weasley.'_  
  
"What did you think you were going to accomplish by pulling that little stunt back there? Do you want Hermione to know about you? About the map?" she questioned, taking a step away from the tall blonde.  
  
"No," he said evenly, leaning sideways against the brown bricked wall of the building. "And you're not going to tell her either."   
  
Her bright eyes widened, and her small chapped lips formed an O. "I'm not?" she asked, her face pinkening, whether from the cold or her anger he didn't know. "And whose going to stop me, you?"   
  
"Maybe," he answered calmly, folding his arms over his chest.   
  
She snorted turning away from him. "Is that a threat Malfoy?" She paused, waiting for an answer, but he just stared unwaveringly at her.  
  
"What? Are you going to Memory Charm me like you did Hermione?" she asked, sarcastically. "Though I doubt you have the magical talent enough to do that."  
  
"Don't tempt me."   
  
She narrowed her dark eyes, and crossed her arms over her chest, causing her shoulder-bag to swing forward.   
  
After a moment's silence she spoke. "Well," she asked, opening her arms as if to display the air around her. "You dragged me down this alley for some reason. Might as well have it out."  
  
"Dragged is a bit of a strong word don't you agree?" he calmly asked, lifting a pale brow. "Let's say, escorted or even accompanied."   
  
The man behind the Omnioculars snorted, fogging the window's glass. Malfoy was always a wonder to him, but now even more. How could he be so calm and maintain such civility with a fuming girl, like Ginny Weasley, before him?  
  
She closed her eyes again, as if to gain her composure.   
  
"Draco," she said, her voice was void of anger and sounded weary, "just tell me what you want, so I can move along with my evening."   
  
"Why haven't you answered my owls or shown up for our appointments? We had one today, at noon, and you deliberately neglected to attend. I assumed you were angry with me, but I thought after a week you would have surely cooled off. Obviously, I was wrong."  
  
"Wouldn't be the first time," she mumbled.  
  
"As you unfortunately already know," he continued, ignoring Weasley's comment, "my mother is ill at the moment. And in order for her to be cured, I'm going to be in need of your assistance. So, on my part, I'm going to graciously apologize for you being offended by my comment last week about your mother."  
  
"That's not an apology," she said, gawking at him and his audacity.   
  
"Yes, it is," he said, looking at her in disbelief.   
  
"No, it's not."   
  
"Yes, it is."   
  
"No, it's not!" she shouted. "You're not apologizing for making the comment. You're apologizing for me taking _offense_ to the comment. There's a difference you know."  
  
"I see none," he said casually, examining his nails.   
  
"Ugh," she cried out, "You are the most exhausting person, I have ever met in my entire life."   
  
"You're just saying that," he smirked.   
  
"That's it," she said, turning from him, "I'm leaving."   
  
"But we haven't finished talking," he called after her, not moving from his comfortable slant against the brick wall. The watcher could only see her red hair and colorful knit cap now, as she stood with her back to the shop and Malfoy. She was obviously torn between leaving the small alley and turning and hexing Malfoy into next week. She stood still for a few seconds, gaining her composure again, before turning around to face him.   
  
"Draco, I'm tired," she said, her voice taking on the weary tone it had held earlier. It seemed to be bouncing between weary and agitated in the span of one note. "So, could we please not fight now."   
  
"Would you rather we do it later, then," he said, pushing off the wall and walking closer to her.   
  
"I'd rather we not do it at all, but I don't see that happening," she said falling quiet again.   
  
"This is definitely not how I saw this conversation going," he said nonchalantly.   
  
"Honestly, how did you expect this little conversation to go?" she asked.   
  
"I would apologize and you would accept," he said.  
  
"That simple, huh."   
  
"Well, it should have been that simple. Honestly, I didn't foresee you still being angry with me. I mean, you've been angry with me before and you've always gotten over it."   
  
"Draco," she said softly, "I'm not sure I'm even mad at you anymore. It's simply on a matter of principle, now. If I went back to work for you, it would be like betraying my mum's memory-"  
  
"What about my Mother," he shouted, "you can't just let her..." his voice trailed off, it seemed like he was finally losing his cool disposition. He paused for a moment to gather his thoughts before he spoke again."What happened to loyalty and always doing the right thing. Isn't that what you Gryffindors stand for."  
  
"And what's the right thing, Draco?" she asked, looking at him.   
  
"Do you really need to ask that?" he spat. His face was flushing a bit, and he looked a mixture of emotions as he turned his back on her. She picked her hand up to lay it on his shoulder but decided against it and put the tip of her thumb into her mouth.  
  
"You know what Weasley," he whirled around on her, his face a sheet of indifference, "I don't need your help. Hell, I don't even want it."   
  
And he walked out of the alley.   
  
_"That's interesting,"_ thought the bystander. He had never seen Draco _Malfoy_ lose his cool so dramatically before. This Weasley girl was much more notable than he'd originally thought.  
  
*~*~*   
  
Draco surveyed his reflection in his bedroom's gold framed mirror. A long black single breasted lapel suit, a shiny black vest, a white Egyptian cotton button down shirt, and a light silver tie, draped his body.   
  
He had his hair cut earlier in the day, and it was now too short to tuck behind his ears, so he wore it combed back.  
  
"Tink!" he yelled, knowing the house-elf wasn't too far from his quarters.   
  
The tiny doe-eyed elf stumbled into the room from the service passage. She was gasping for breath and clutching her thin side through her dull dress.  
  
"Master, has called Tink," said the little elf out of breath. She was half-bowing, half-curtseying.  
  
"Yes, I need you to tell me the truth," he ordered.   
  
Tink nodded her head.   
  
"What do you think?" He lifted his arms, to give her a better view of his newly tailored suit and freshly trimmed hair.   
  
Tink blinked her large brown eyes twice, but didn't say anything.   
  
Draco gave an aggravated sigh, "How am I dressed? How do I look?"   
  
"Tinks is not at liberties to say, sir," said Tink. Her eyes wandered to her feet.   
  
"Then what good are you?" He turned back to his bedroom mirror.   
  
"Well?" he asked, after he heard the service door close.   
  
"Smashing." The antique mirror answered. "If I may speak freely young Master Draco, if I weren't a mirror, you would be in a great lot of trouble."  
  
"You're just saying that." He argued trying to sound humble. "I'm much too thin."  
  
"You're not," she rebutted. "And I'm sure that young redhead will find you just as irresistible. Pity that you two are arguing. I must say that whatever you've done, she'll excuse you, if you apologize dressed as well as this."  
  
"You think so." He smirked, turning to get a side view of his profile. "Wait, how'd you know about Ginny?"   
  
"Well, I heard it from a painting on the first floor, who heard it from one of the door's gargoyles, who said he overheard you two arguing on about your mothers," said the mirror quickly. Draco was sure if it could breathe, it would have been panting.  
  
"So, you've all been gossiping about me, have you? Think it's funny to laugh about your master, do you?" Draco asked in his anger.   
  
He wasn't sure why his temper was so quick lately, but since his encounter with Ginny in Diagon Alley, he had been snapping at his servants for the smallest infractions. This alone wasn't completely out of character, but even Edmund, who had always been a favorite of Draco's, had been on the receiving end of his temper."   
  
"There's is no reason to yell, sir," said Edmund. Draco turned to see the tiny house-elf standing in the doorway. He was holding a dark burgundy pillow in his hands and two small pieces of silver lay upon it.   
  
"What have you there?" asked Draco, nodding at the pillow and deliberately ignoring the house-elf's last comment.  
  
"Master's cufflinks, sir," Edmund said. He walked further into the room, the pillow held high over his head.   
"I forgot I asked you to get them for me," Draco said taking them off the pillow. He could feel the silver M, beneath his thumb as he easily slipped them into the bare holes of his cuffs.   
  
"Your date for the evening, Mrs. Price, is also in the hall waiting for you," Edmund said lowering the pillow.   
  
"And she can keep waiting," Draco said shortly. "I'm not finished yet."  
  
He ran his fingers through his hair and flattened his suit out once more, before turning to walk out of his room.  
  
When he reached the top of the stairs, he could see Pansy at the bottom. Even in the scarcely lit dreary hall, it wasn't difficult to spot her. He had grown accustomed to walking Ginny out of the Manor, and when she came into the hall, her bright golden-red hair had saved her bleak clothes from merging into the walls, but Pansy was loud in her metallic pink dress.  
  
"Draco," she said, when she spotted him.   
  
"You have the invitation; do you not?" he asked, taking the steps one at a time.  
  
"Yes," she replied. "Shall we go then?" she asked pulling a small white envelope from her cloak's pocket.  
  
Draco turned to the now open door, where Tink stood with her hand on the large doorknob, and Edmund stood with Draco's formal cloak. "Where do you think you're going?" asked Pansy, a trickle of her grating laugh, in her voice. She was looking at Draco but glanced down at Edmund with an odd expression, Draco assumed it was from the house-elf holding his clothes.   
  
"To a ball. And yourself?" he answered turning around, ready to give her one of his best glares.  
  
"You don't have to go anywhere," she said, holding the invitation up by a corner.   
  
"Portkey?" he asked, lifting an eyebrow, before touching the opposite corner and disappearing from the Manor.   
  
*~*~*   
  
Ginny arrived at the ball, a half-hour late. She had checked the house twice for another costume, before deciding to leave in her now one-sided guise. She was still fuming at Colin for not telling her until thirty minutes before they were to take their Portkey, that he had switched costumes. Instead of going as her match, Hansel, he had decided to go as Harry-Bloody-Potter, skipping out of the bathroom in a Chuddley Cannons' Quidditch robe and black framed glasses, his mousy brown hair charmed a shocking black.  
  
Now here she stood on a balcony filled with her brothers waiting for the evening to be over. She had been asked by almost every partygoer if she was "Little Red Riding Hood" but had scared most people off, by declaring that the next person to ask her if she was would be clobbered.  
  
She wanted to stay in her foul mood, scowling at everyone who passed, but it was difficult with the cheery temperament, the bottomless goblets, and the beautiful firework-enchanted ceiling that Fred and George had charmed themselves.  
  
_`Fred and George'_, Ginny thought, looking over at her brothers who were talking animatedly to Victor Krum. Each twin had a goblet of their "Secret Punch" in one hand and a veela or some other equally stunning creature, dressed as a bunny (though Ginny had never seen bunnies that looked like that) hanging off the other. They had decided to go as fictional characters themselves and had dressed as "Dr. Jeckyll and Mr. Hyde." Fred was clearly Mr. Hyde wearing his hair in a mess and dressing in a white ripped shirt and shredded trousers. George, however, was his exact opposite, his neat red hair was combed back, covered mostly by his black top hat, and his black suit was pristine.  
  
Her other brothers faired well in the costume department too, Bill dressed as a knight and his date Fleur was a damsel in distress, but Ginny wasn't sure how distressed she was as her lips hadn't seemed to part from Bill's the whole night. Charlie had worn a costume that made him look very much like Hercules, but he kept denying it, saying it was the only thing he had left. Percy was a Gringott's Banker, or at least that's what Penny told everyone since no one believed he had worn a costume, and Ron dressed as his favorite comic book detective. Hermione and Harry who Ginny considered her family also dressed up, although Harry didn't stretch too much. He had put off buying his costume, and had to apologize to Hermione and Ron for wearing his Quidditch robes. Hermione, however, looked beautiful in her toga as Clio, the muse of history.  
  
Colin walked by, pulling her from her musings.  
  
"Still mad at me are you?" he asked, offering her a golden goblet.   
  
"Yes," she sneered, taking the goblet. She took a long sip. The beverage was sweet and gave her a strange, warm fuzzy feeling, like everything might be okay.  
  
"Will making a fool of meself make up for it?" he asked, smiling.   
  
"Maybe," she said, trying to fight a giggle. "What do you plan on doing, prancing around in your nutty pants."   
  
"If that'll make you happy," he said, acting as if he were going to take off his belt. But Fred's voice gathered both of their attention.   
  
"Well looksee' here," said Fred, loudly. Ginny looked at him and noticed that his blue eyes were focusing on something over her shoulder. When she turned to follow his gaze, it was obvious what he was gawking at.  
"Draco," she whispered, not realizing she had said it.   
  
The crowd had parted from the entrance, and Draco stood on the top of the stairs in all his glory. His hair was shorter than the last time she had seen each him, back on Diagon Alley. He was wearing an expensive Muggle black suit and hanging off his arm was Pansy Parkinson.  
  
"Why in the hell did you invite him?" asked Ron, dragging Ginny from her daze.   
  
"We didn't," answered Fred, nibbling on the neck of one of his bunnies. Ginny noticed Percy shift uncomfortably but George quickly grabbed her attention again.  
  
"We invited that bird he has on his arm," said George, taking a long sip from his punch. "And we'd have avoided inviting her if it wouldn't have been for Wes'."   
  
"You mean that cow is the widow of Wesley Price?" asked Charlie's date, a tall blonde named Starr.  
  
"Who can forget all that wailing?" said Ron. He followed with an accurate portrayal of Pansy's less than dignified funeral antics.  
  
The twins, Bill, and Charlie laughed loudly and even Percy suppressed a smile. Ginny, her eyes still on Draco as he ordered a drink from the bar, felt the sides of her lips tugging.  
  
"Ron, that's not very humorous or kind. The young woman had just lost her husband. How would you feel if you were to lose Hermione or better yet, Harry?" scolded Penelope. The Weasley filled balcony seemed to simultaneously gasp.   
  
"Don't even try to compare what we have to that," hissed Ron. His voice was unusually calm, which only meant that he was beyond bad temper and on his way to blind rage.   
  
"Ron," said Harry and Hermione softly. They were guiding Ron away from the large pregnant woman.   
  
"Well," Percy started, looking more relaxed than he had moments before, "Me and Penny must really be going. It's not good for the future mother of my son to be tramping about at night. Ginny," he turned to his youngest sibling hugging her, "Keep an eye on your brothers," he whispered into her ear "and for the love of Merlin eat something. You're too skinny."  
  
"I will," she said, smiling at her brother. It was always different hugging Percy, than her other brothers. Maybe, it was the colour of his eyes, the tone of his voice, or the feminine quality his embrace held, but briefly it felt like she was hugging her mother, again.  
  
"Bye Penny," she said, trying to give Penny an equally enthusiastic hug, but her seven month stomach didn't allow either to get their arms around the other.   
  
"Don't drink too much, dear," Penny said, patting her on the head. The gesture, though loving, made Ginny cringe.   
  
*~*~*   
  
Pansy took a long swallow of her punch, watching Ron Weasley over the goblet's rim. He was gathering drinks from the bartender. His long freckled fingers so easily wrapped around the goblets, as he tried to balance all three. She licked her lips when he straightened his broad shoulders, only made broader by the khaki coat he wore. She gave him a coy smile, when his eyes locked with hers.  
  
Bright blue eyes the color of a clear winter sky. His long calloused fingers, his wide muscular shoulders, his bright blue eyes. Everything about him made her want to... Well, she wasn't sure, but whatever it was she wanted to do it with Ron Weasley.  
  
"Don't I know you?" the drawling voice of Draco Malfoy pulled her from her 'observations' of Weasley. She turned in her seat to find him talking to a tuxedo clad house-elf.  
  
"No sirs," the house-elf answered. His warm green eyes cast down trying to avoid Draco's cold gray.   
  
"Are you sure?" he asked, his eyes narrowing further, his elegant finger lightly shaking at the waiter.   
  
"Yes, sirs," stuttered the house-elf.  
  
Pansy almost felt sorry for the little creature. It had been merely doing the job it had been hired for, when Draco decided to harass him.   
  
"Leave the help alone, Malfoy," she said, leaning back in her chair, a perfectly curled lock of brown hair falling into her face.   
  
Draco looked up at her, obviously annoyed, and the elf took it as his chance to escape. The former Head Boy's eyes moved from the empty space back to her.  
  
"Thank you, Parkinson," he said pulling out a chair, and sitting in it. "If you hadn't interrupted us, I would have figured it out.  
  
"It's Price," she said, "It's only decent to remember the names of the poor people you're blackmailing."   
  
"Well, there are so many," he said dryly.   
  
*~*~*   
"Is it me or was Pansy Parkinson staring over here?" Ron asked, taking a sip of his drink.   
  
"It's you," replied Harry, swirling his own around. "But that's not important. What's up with the Zabini case. I know you're a good deal closer than that cow Lita Gross's been going on about."   
  
"Not really," Ron sighed. He opened his mouth to embellish when Seamus Finnegan crashed into their table, knocking Harry's glass over, sending dark punch over the white tablecloth. All three friends, Harry, Ron, and Hermione, jumped back to avoid getting any on themselves.   
  
"So, 'ow's 'arry _"My fi'teen secons of 'ame are over"_ Podder and 'is bes' chap Ron _'I sleep wit' a 'porter and now she's bent on making my life a living 'ell"_ Weasley," a highly intoxicated Seamus asked.  
  
Ron and Harry stared unblinking back at Seamus. Hermione was busy cleaning the mess up with her wand.   
  
"'orry, boys," he said, his jolly mood gone. "It's de punch," he lifted up his own golden cup, which he'd managed to hold onto. "It's addictive."   
  
"S'okay," Harry said, taking his seat and smiling up at his very intoxicated former dorm mate. "We'll just forget you said that."   
  
"Tanks 'arry," Seamus said, wobbling away with the help of Dean Thomas.   
  
"O'kay, No more punch for Seamus," Ron said taking his own seat.   
  
"You can say that again," Ginny said walking up. The front of her costume, which had been previously white had a long red stain down the center and over one arm she carried a heap of white fabric. "He actually asked me if I was Little Miss Muffet, and he wouldn't mind me sitting on his tuffet any day. Then he spilled punch down my front." She looked down at the stain, a scowl distorting her face.   
  
"He said what?" asked Ron, searching the ball room for their inebriated pal. "I'm gonna kill him."   
  
"Oh, sit down Ron," lectured Ginny and Hermione. He reluctantly sat down and frowned at obeying two girls' orders, especially since one was his baby sister.   
  
"He shouldn't be talking to you like that," Ron said.   
  
"I can take care of myself, thank-you. Besides, I didn't move over here to start a fight."   
  
"Then what might you be over here for?" asked Ron, taking a sip from his goblet; he felt unusually tired.  
  
"I came over to talk to Hermione." She turned to the brunette, "Can I see you for a moment?"  
"Sure," said Hermione, rising from her seat.   
  
~*~*~*~   
  
Ginny pushed the lavatory door open, allowing Hermione to enter first, her white toga making a strange swishing sound as she turned to face Ginny.  
  
"So what's this about?" she asked, smiling.   
  
"Seamus spilt punch on me," Ginny said, looking down. She realized this statement was strange and quickly added, "And I don't want punch on me all night."   
  
"That I much can see," said Hermione, taking her wand from the rope belt of her costume. "I can fix it quickly, a simple removal spell."   
  
"No," Ginny said, putting her hands up to stop Hermione. The brunette had obviously misunderstood her intentions.   
  
"What I mean is, I don't want to wear this anymore," she waved her hands indicating her costume. "I want you to transfigure it into something, well," she paused, "Anything."   
  
Hermione looked at her thoughtfully, her arms crossed over her chest, her wand tapping against the top of her shoulder.   
  
"Please," Ginny begged.   
  
"Okay," said Hermione, reluctantly. With the small amount of fabric Ginny's costume allotted, she could only transfigure one type of dress, and she was sure Ron wouldn't appreciate it very much. "But you have to promise to keep your cloak on," she said indicating the fabric in Ginny's hands.  
  
"Promise," Ginny said, fingering the cloak, the pristine white making even her pale hands look a shade darker. "It's a beautiful cloak; isn't it? It was Mum's ya know." She looked back at Hermione with the strangest look of sadness on her face.  
  
"Well you do it justice," Hermione said taking the large, but soft cloak from her. "Ready?" she asked, lifting her wand once more.  
  
"As I'll ever be."   
  
*~*~*   
  
Harry sat next to Ron, a new goblet in his hand. Oddly every time he took a sip, he felt a little more relaxed. Usually, alcohol Muggle or otherwise had the opposite effect on him. He and Ron would grow loud and obnoxious till Hermione yelled at them for being drunken idiots, but now he felt if he put his head down on the table and closed his eyes everything would be fine.   
  
"Well, I'm back," Hermione said, sitting next to him.   
  
He slowly moved his head to look at her. He thought she looked pretty with the way she'd worn her hair, and he smiled dumbly at her.   
  
"Are you okay, Harry?" Ginny asked, and he slowly turned to look at her. She was wearing something far different than she had been wearing before her loo trip.  
  
"What are you wearing?" Ron asked; his voice was a tad sluggish too.  
  
"It's a dress, Ron," Hermione said, still looking at Harry. She had an expression of concern on her face.   
  
"If that's what you call it," Ron said angrily, but his voice didn't rise anymore.  
  
Harry couldn't help but agree. If he'd had a sister, he wouldn't have let her walk out in that--all sleek and white and shiny. He giggled to himself. _'Shiny, now that was funny word.'_  
  
"I think it looks lovely," Ginny said shortly, standing up, her white cloak clasped at her neck. "Again, I thank you Hermione." And she walked aimlessly onto the dance floor.   
  
*~*~*   
  
Draco held Pansy's large red silk gloved hand in his own, as he glided them across the dance floor to get a closer look at Ginny and Creevey. They seemed to be dancing a strange dance Draco had never seen before, but it was obviously well practiced as they didn't miss a step.   
  
The two had been dancing together all evening, not once letting anyone cut into their special performance. Draco could see her soft red waves float in the air as Creevey twirled her around.   
  
"We need to cut in," Draco said suddenly to Pansy, whose eyes were wandering to the ceiling.   
  
"What?" she asked, "With whom?"  
  
"With them," said Draco, nodding in Ginny and Creevey's direction.   
  
"I don't want to," she whined, staring back to the enchanted ceiling. The fireworks were clearly hypnotizing her small mind. Draco huffed in annoyance.   
  
"Wanna make the cover of the Society page," he asked, pulling on one of Pansy's many weaknesses.   
  
"Maybe, why?" she asked, her eyes moving to him again.   
  
"Creevey would be the man, well," he paused, "if you can call him a man, to do it," he nodded at Creevey again. "He's this evening's photographer. I would've assumed you'd have known that already."   
  
Pansy visibly bit the sides of her already sallow cheeks, a habit she had when she needed to think. He was thankful that it didn't happen often as it made her look like a dead fish.  
  
Gripping her hand painfully tight, he asked, "Shall we?"   
  
Grimacing despite herself, she turned her cold blue eyes on him. "We shall," she answered.   
  
*~*~*   
  
Ginny smiled as Colin spun her out once more, but his hand let go of her own for a brief second, and it was replaced with a much larger and softer hand than Colin's. She didn't need to look up to the person who had replaced her friend, she already knew. From the mirror shine of his black leather shoes, the crisp crease in his tailored dark trousers, to the smell of his unmistakable cologne, it was all uniquely Draco.  
  
"Having fun are you?" he asked, harshly.  
  
"Tons," she said, looking up at him.   
  
"Good," he said, his voice as equally harsh as the first time he'd spoken.   
  
They danced in silence for a few seconds before Ginny finally spoke, "I thought you said you didn't need me. I thought you said you could do it on your own."  
  
Draco paused, before answering, "I believe I need to explain my behaviour of the last few days."   
  
"Explain away, but it's not going to sway my decision."   
  
"So you think."   
  
"Look, Draco," she said, the unique feeling of annoyance that only he could rise from her pulling at her temper. "You've already given me _your_ half-hearted apology. I didn't accept it two days ago, and I won't accept it now."  
  
Draco pulled her close to him, his hand sliding under her cloak to touch the bare skin on the small of her back. The force from his touch pulled her to the tips of her toes, shortening the distance between them by half, so he could speak clearly into her ear.  
  
"Listen, Weasley," he whispered dipping his head, his breath tickling her throat, his warm fingers making her back tingle, "I've only allowed two people in this world to slap me without repercussion. Only sincerely apologized to three human beings and chased only one person in my entire life. Now, that might not seem like a great lot to you, but trust that for me it is much more than I'd like. It just so happens that you seem to be the only person lucky enough to fall into each of those neat little categories. I do hope you understand I wouldn't have been forced to say those things to you at the Manor, had you not attacked me-"  
  
"Attacked you?!" Ginny cried indignantly.   
  
"Yes, attacked me. You came into my home spouting questions about Mother, questions about things you shouldn't have known about, questions you had no business asking. How did you expect me to react? _'Oh, Ginny let me cry on your shoulder about my dying Mum.'_ Yes, I can see how that would have gone over well."  
  
"You didn't have to hide it from me," she said. "I know how it feels to lose a mother-" but Ginny was cut off by Draco being tapped on the shoulder, and before she could react Draco stumbled back into her.  
  
*~*~*   
  
"I know how it feels to lose a mother-" said Ginny softly, her chestnut eyes looking up to him with empathy, but before Draco could interrupt her with a snide remark, he felt a firm tap on his shoulder. He turned to politely tell the rude individual that he and Miss Weasley were having a private conversation, but he was met with a glance of spotted knuckles, before they made contact with the upper half of his left cheek. In surprise, he stumbled backwards and felt Ginny's tiny body brace against his back.   
  
"_Merde!_" he heard himself shout, slipping into his French.  
  
"Nice hit," complimented Pansy, from his left. He saw from the corner of his eye that she was holding Creevey in an exaggerated dip.  
  
"Indeed," agreed Creevey, smiling, his back, less than a foot above the purple marble floor.   
  
Weasley looked at the odd dancing couple, then back to Draco and Ginny, his blue-eyes angry.   
  
"What in the bloody hell are you doing with my sister?" he asked through clenched teeth. Potter, green-eyes filled with curiosity, looked at him and Ginny, over his friend's broad shoulder. He was holding Weasley's arm back.  
  
Draco stood erect, one hand lightly on his bruising cheek, while the other's fingernails cut deep into the skin of his palm. _'You have to control the situation and not make a scene,'_words his father taught him resounding in his mind. _'Control the situation,'_ he ordered himself, but his fingers were itching to grab the wand inside his jacket. _'Control the situation,'_ he repeated. He could not retaliate no matter how badly he craved revenge.  
  
He quickly glanced around the room at the other dancers; surprisingly no one was paying them any mind. They were too enthralled with the loud music.  
  
"I asked, what were you doing with my sister?" Weasley repeated.   
  
"Well, we civilized people call it dancing, but barbarians like yourself might refer to it as something entirely different," he replied smoothly. _'Not my most witty comeback,'_ he admitted to himself bitterly, _'but it certainly stung Weasley.' _  
  
"Weak gibe," commented Pansy, twirling Creevey, his orange Quidditch robes swirling.   
  
"Ron, what do you think you're doing?" whispered Ginny, ignoring Pansy. She was moving to stand before Draco. He was honestly surprised at how defensive she was when seconds before she had been the one ready to strike him.   
  
"What am I doing?" Weasley asked, in disbelief. He was standing behind a disgruntled Harry. "I'm rescuing you."   
  
"From who? Malfoy?" she laughed, much to Draco's annoyance.  
  
"Sorry to burst your bubble my oh-so-_chivalrous_ big brother, but the only reason Draco's dancing with me is that Mrs. Price," she nodded to Pansy and Creevey, "needed to speak with Colin, and I didn't feel like leaving the dance floor. He hasn't any other motive for dancing with me."   
  
"That's not what it looked like to me," Weasley said, but his voice was lower.   
  
"Maybe you should borrow your boyfriend's glasses, and you could see a bit clearer," whispered Draco. He felt Ginny's body shake with laughter against his chest.  
  
Draco didn't know the male Weasley had overheard him until, the ginger-haired boy lunged himself at him, causing Harry to fall into Ginny. Draco took a graceful step back catching Ginny before she fell to the floor, and helped her sidestep Potter.   
  
"Just be quiet, Draco," she hissed as he straightened her.   
  
They all opened their mouths to begin arguing over the loud music when suddenly the room went quiet and one of those annoying twins walked onto the stage with the band. His light wand pointed at his throat. "Good evenin', Ladies and Gits," he greeted, his amplified voice booming in the large room as he was joined by his Polyjuiced double.  
  
"Good evenin'," answered the crowd.   
  
"Are we all having a good-time?" he asked, being answered with cheers.   
  
"Good-Good," said the other boy, taking his black top-hat off, "Now, tonight we're going to start the dancing stuff off with…"  
  
Draco didn't care to hear the rest. He rubbed his sore cheek and looked down to Ginny. Her face was glowing with anticipation as she looked up to her brother. He had come to the ball to try and talk to her and had missed his chance. He was bruised, sober in a room full of drunks, and for the first time in a while wanted to be alone.   
  
*~*~*   
  
"We're going to start the first dance with the _Switch Off_!" said George. He looked adorable as he smoothly placed his black top hat back over his red hair.  
  
"You all know the dance," Fred started, "the lucky git you end the song with, will be the lucky git you'll be going home with."  
  
Ginny felt her jaw drop. _Did Fred just say that?_ she asked herself. But she didn't have much time to reflect on it as she was pulled into another dance step.  
  
Callused fingers gripped her hand and she looked up into the eyes of her brother. The hat to his detective costume was askew and strands of his fine red hair were springing out.   
  
"Don't lie to me, Ginny. Is that really what was going on?" asked, Ron, guiding her across the dance floor.  
  
She shifted her glance to his light eyebrows. If Ron were able to read her as well as she thought he could, he would figure her out quickly.  
  
"Yes," she lied, feeling the pain of guilt that had become all too familiar to her. "You know I'd never lie to you."  
  
"I know," he smiled. "I just can't understand why he would want to dance with you."   
  
"Thanks, Ron," said Ginny, falsely insulted.   
  
"No, I didn't mean it like that," Ron explained, sputtering. "Ugh, you know what I mean."   
  
"Yeah, I know," Ginny said, listening intently for the lead singer to scream Switch!  
  
"_Switch!_" rang out over the room.   
  
Ginny quickly switched to dance with the nearest boy; luckily she landed in the gloved hands of Oliver Wood.  
  
"Fancy meetin' you 'ere," greeted Oliver, giving Ginny one of his charming smiles.   
  
"Not really, since you've been avoiding me all evening," she answered.   
  
"Me, avoiding you," Oliver said in disbelief, "I beg to differ. You and Creevey boy have been like two peas in a pod over there. Then you started to dance with Draco, and I assumed you would be with him for the rest of the evening."  
  
At the mention of Draco's name, Ginny immediately scanned the room for him. She found him, looking down at her from the balcony, a brandy glass in his hand. She was amazed at how quick and stealthy he was, as he'd managed to fight the rowdy crowd of the dance floor, climb the tall staircase, and get himself a drink, before she had started dancing with her second partner.  
  
"_Switch!_"   
  
She lost her visual on Draco as she found herself being flung into the slightly tan arms of Harry Potter. She led Harry in a turn while she searched the balcony for Draco. When she found him again, he had someone standing with him--Pansy Parkinson-Price. The ceiling's charmed fireworks reflecting off the metallic pink material of her ball gown made her easy to spot. His face was set, and his eyes were narrowing as she looked up at him. Pansy was saying something very unpleasant, Ginny assumed as he snapped at her and turned away.  
  
The voice of the lead singer didn't come soon enough for Ginny. It wasn't that she disliked dancing with Harry, but _'I hate dancing,'_ was the only statement he had made while avoiding her Mary Jane protected toes. He wasn't one for forced conversation and being this close to him, with no buffer zone of Ron or Hermione, was just uncomfortable, for the both of them. This time when the lead singer called the now annoying shout out, Ginny ran for the nearest wall. She didn't want to dance anymore. She felt the need to find Draco. Picking up both the hem of her white dress and cloak, Ginny walked quickly across the dance floor to the stairs that led to Draco's abandoned balcony. She took the steps two at a time, the sound of her unmatching thick black heels of her shoes drowned out by the lead singer's voice and the beats floating over the dance floor from the bands guitars and drums. When she finally reached the top of her staircase she paused as the music stopped.  
  
"Okay," announced one of the twins, one arm around a pretty brunette bunny's waist. "Let's see who ended it up with who."  
  
The fireworks halted, and a light pink spotlight rained across the crowd.  
  
"I knew it!" shouted the voice of Fred. "At last Harry and Ron have decided to announce their love to the world. Let's give them a hand, people."   
  
Ginny's couldn't resist letting her eyes follow the pink spotlight to where Harry and Ron were looking oddly at each other. They appeared to have been unknowingly dancing together, and quickly jumped apart.   
  
The ballroom erupted in laughter, and Ginny was sure she could see Ron's ears turning a darker shade of pink from the balcony.  
  
*~*~*   
  
"Not much to look at is she?" Pansy asked, beside him. Her voice made Draco long to dig his fingernails deep into the balcony's oak banister, but she was attending on his request, so he gritted his teeth in silence.  
  
"I said, not much to look at is she?" Pansy asked louder, obviously, offended by the fact the that she was being ignored.   
  
"Might I ask who could be such a nauseating creature, that you can't bear to look at her?" Draco asked. But he needn't have asked or looked to where her oversized blue-eyes fell; he had an idea of whom Pansy was talking about.  
  
She was speaking of Ginny, someone he had failed to pry his eyes from in the course of the evening. It wasn't his fault, they kept lingering on her; it was that damn red hair of hers. It was very distracting, like a golden-red beacon in a sea of lifeless colours. And it didn't help that at the moment she was dancing with Potter, her tiny freckled hands resting on his orange shoulders.   
  
"You already know," she spat, "Since you haven't taken those pretty eyes of yours off of her, since we stepped into this dreadful place."   
  
"It surprises me, how little you do know about me, Pansy," he said turning to her, for once this evening looking at something other than Ginny and her present dancing partner.   
  
"I know enough," she answered.  
  
"D'you now?"   
  
"I know there's something wrong when Draco Malfoy mopes around after commoners, when he's failed to throw a single insult at a single partygoer. When he becomes obsessed with things he knows he can never have. When he apologizes to a _Weasley_!"  
  
He looked at her, his eyes as cold as ever, his cheeks warming with embarrassment.  
  
"That's right, darling," she drawled. "I heard the whole thing. But my God, Draco. You can't be acting this way over her; the girl looks no older than a seventh year."  
  
He took a lengthy sip of his drink; the alcohol giving him a small comfort while Pansy carried on.   
  
"But my what control she does have over you. You dress in your nicest robes and grovel at her feet, but still she fails to forgive you. My, my Draco. How far you have fallen? You can't even manage to charm that little speckled chit."  
  
"Shut-it," he said, through gritted teeth.   
  
"Not yet," she paused. "What is it about her Draco, that's got you so...disheveled? Is it that she's a Weasley?"  
  
Draco took a deep breath, trying desperately to curb his temper. He needed to divert his focus onto something else, the pain in his cheek, the pain in his palm where his nails had imprinted half moons, on anything but Pansy.  
  
"Pansy will you kindly sod-off," he finally whispered, each syllable holding every ounce of his Malfoy self-control. He could physically feel the tiny strings of his civility fraying. He didn't want to hear her screechy voice anymore; he didn't want to hear the lies she insisted on telling him. He didn't want to hear the accusations his mind had been accusing him of.  
  
If Pansy would have known the anger bubbling in Draco, she would have minded his words, and had it been any other time, she would have shrunk away with her tail between her legs, but she was feeling a foolish rebelliousness inside of her.  
  
"I'm not going anywhere," she hissed.   
  
"Fine," he spat, picking up his nearly full glass. "I'll go."   
He pushed passed Pansy, shoving his shoulder into hers, and walked out onto the balcony.   
  
*~*~*   
  
Ginny stepped onto the balcony and immediately felt the bitter October wind on her face. Draco stood leaning forward onto the concrete banister. One hand was bracing all of his weight, while the other brought his glass to his lips. His stature resembled a dictator looking over his country, but his unguarded expression was that of a king on looking at his dying land. Not saying a word, she walked to stand by him.  
  
"Go back inside," he said. His voice was demanding, and his warm breath came out as a silver cloud in the moonlight.  
  
"Since, when does a Weasley take orders from a Malfoy? The smallest to boot," she replied, playfully.   
  
His body didn't move, but from the corner of her eye, she saw his head tilt. She kept her own head straight and her eyes fixed on the rough water.  
"So, should we finish our row, now or later?" she asked, lightly.   
  
He didn't answer her, but took another sip from his glass.   
  
Ginny took a deep breath, hoping against hope that the next words that left her lips weren't going to be the worst mistake of her life.   
  
"I honestly don't see why we should fight. I mean, I've decided even though you can be insufferable and childish and bad tempered and catty-"  
  
"I get the point," he said flatly, still refusing to look at her.   
  
"That I'm going to help you," she said ignoring him. She saw his shoulders straighten.  
  
"Whatever happened to your _principles_?" he asked, mocking the word.   
  
"Principles have nothing to do with it and neither do you. But helping your mother, would be like helping my own," she answered truthfully.   
  
Draco, if it was possible, stiffened his shoulders even more at her last words. They stood in silence, Draco sipping his bottomless glass and Ginny nervously chewing on her thumbnail until its clear polish chipped white.  
  
"D'you wanna talk about it?" she finally asked, when the cold wind was becoming unbearably painful and he hadn't reply.   
  
"Not particularly." He drained the glass and set it on the banister. "Besides," He casually moved onto his elbows. "Didn't I tell you to go away?"   
  
"No, you told me to go back inside," Ginny corrected. She wrapped her expensive cloak around her more tightly. The pale chiffon dress, Hermione had transfigured for her to wear was beautiful, but it gave no shelter against the North Wind on her nearly bare chest.  
  
"See… You're cold. You should be inside with your Saint Potter, or that skirt wearing git, Jock McWood."  
  
"It's called a kilt," she laughed, through her chattering teeth. "You should know that."   
  
"I only know things I care about."   
  
"You must not know much, then."   
  
"Why do you do that?" he asked, his voice annoyed but deep and serious.   
  
"Do what?" she asked innocently, looking up at him.   
  
"You know what?" he spat facing her, his lips set in a thin firm line. "Finding everything so bloody funny."   
  
She looked back at him unfazed by his impatient childish temper. "I suppose turning everything into a joke is how my family handles things."  
  
"Well, it's not a very wise way," said Draco, looking at her. His once clear eyes now held evidence of his intoxication.  
  
"Well, it's the only way I know how to handle you, when you're being the whiny overbearing spoiled brat you're being now."  
  
"I don't whine," he said defensively.   
  
"Then I guess you brood," she teased.   
  
His eyes narrowed on her, and Ginny had to look away. She focused her attention back on the vast ocean spread before her and away from Draco's invasion of her personal space.  
  
That night the moon was bright, making the ocean look even more beautiful than it had been reflecting the sun. The way the moonbeams bounced off the black waves reminded her of a saying Charlie had once told her, _'Beautiful but Deceiving.'_ He was talking about a special breed of dragon and not the ocean, but Ginny thought it could be applied on to both accounts. He explained to her how the beasts would use their iridescent scales to hypnotize, waiting for you put your guard down, before they struck.  
  
"Beautiful but Deceiving," she whispered as she watched the black water break into white foam upon the rocks.  
  
"Draco," she started, with a softened voice. "What I was trying to say to you earlier, before Ron so rudely interrupted us, is that I know what it's like to lose a mother. I mean- I know what it feels like-"   
  
He shook his head. "I'm not going to lose her," he stated, matter-of-factly.   
"Yeah, but if you do--"   
  
"I won't," he answered, in a deep clipped tone that ordered the subject closed.   
  
Ginny sighed, in defeat. He was going to be much harder to chip than she had thought.  
  
"Well, it must be nice to have the power to deny Death," she said, trying a different tactic, but still finding her words inadequate. "Have you sat him down for a game of chess yet? If you need help, I'm quite sure my brother would be more than willing to give you a few pointers."  
  
"Oh yes, it's quite fun. You should try it sometime," he said leaning onto one elbow. His voice was lower, but his tone had considerably lightened.  
  
She felt his eyes studying her and for once felt self-conscious under his gaze, but forced herself to stare back up to him. In the moonlight, his face was almost ethereal: his skin unnaturally smooth and fair, his eyelashes like silver tassels rimming eyes that were like two silver marbles, lazily grazing her face. He had trained them well to hide his thoughts, and now was no different. But at that moment, Ginny would have given all the gold in Gringott's to know what he was thinking, her brother's words strangely ringing in her mind, _"Beautiful but Deceiving."_  
  
She turned to Draco. Her mouth opened to tell him she needed to go back inside, but unexpectedly, he pulled her the small distance to his chest, his mouth covering her own before she could protest. She stiffened in his arms, but instantly relaxed into him when he slipped his hand underneath her cloak. Her eyes closed, and she tasted the cinnamon flavoured alcohol on his lips. As he parted her own, he allowed her to inhale his distinct scent, making her dizzy.  
  
A shiver ran up her spine, as his left hand, his wand hand, roamed the exposed goose flesh of her back, underneath her cloak. She could feel the difference between his hands even in the intoxicated state he was drowning her in, by the thick cold band of his ring contrasting with the warm skin of fingers.  
  
Ginny had been kissed by her share of boys before, but she couldn't manage to remember one of their names as Draco ran the tip of his tongue along the roof of her mouth. She found her fingers running through his neat hair, the freshly cut tips so soft against her skin.  
  
She involuntarily whimpered in protest as Draco drew his mouth from hers, but smiled when he groaned into her neck.   
  
"Gods, Weasley," he said catching his breath, quickly. "You taste as good as you look," he whispered huskily into her ear, before he switched to the side he'd unknowingly neglected. "And that's saying something," he added, kissing a spot that made Ginny go weak-kneed. He chuckled softly when, she embarrassingly grabbed onto his neck, to stop herself from falling.  
  
Ginny stiffened as she heard a familiar throat clearing; she looked to the intruder, then closed her eyes hoping the image wouldn't be imprinted on the back of her lids. Behind Draco, lit from the faint light of the French doors, arms crossed over his chest, orange Quidditch robes blowing in the wind, stood Colin. The expression on his face was less than happy at the little performance she and Draco were giving.  
  
"Fuck," she groaned, pushing away from Draco unsteadily. He wrapped his black cloak around himself.   
  
"Oh, I'm sure you would have, had I not interrupted," Colin said, venom dripping from his words.   
  
"Sod off, Creevey," snapped Draco, straightening.   
  
"Your brother's sent me to look for you," he continued, ignoring Draco. "It's time to take the _Prophet_ photograph."  
  
"Colin, I can explain," said Ginny, abandoning Draco near the concrete banister.   
  
"Oh, please do," Colin said stepping through one half of a French door, before Ginny. "I would really like to hear, why after searching the two-stories of this ballroom, so _you_ wouldn't be left from the _Prophet's_ pic, I find you lip-locked with Draco-Bloody-Malfoy!"   
  
"I have a logical explanation," protested Ginny.   
  
"Oh, let me guess. You clumsily tripped and landed on his face, is that it?"   
  
"Colin," begged Ginny, an edge to her voice, as they swiftly stepped down the wooden steps of the staircase, "If you'd just let me-"   
  
"How long has this been going on?" interrupted Colin, turning on her as they stepped onto the marble floor. His dark squinty eyes were twice their usual size and full of anger, behind the round black frames he wore.   
  
"What?" asked Ginny confused.   
  
"Well, I'd just like to know how long I should be counting back our friendship, to the exact day you started lying to me?"   
  
Ginny was glad she didn't get a chance to answer, as she and Colin were being pushed by a tall blonde woman. Her temper was beginning to run thin with her best friend.  
  
"Lita," warned Colin, as she dragged him and Ginny over to a large group of people, consisting mostly of Ginny's family members, standing before a floating camera.   
  
"Let's get this over with," Lita grumbled, ignoring Colin and positioning Ginny between a sleepy Harry and Ron, "Get behind the camera, Creevey."   
  
"'Kay. One, two, three, Smile," Lita ordered. Ginny managed a weak smile, as the blinding white light of Colin's camera's flashbulb flared.  
  
*~*~*   
  
Ginny sat on the floor of the barren hall, against the wall opposite her flat's door. She was staring tirelessly at the golden door handle, reluctant to enter her empty flat. Colin had refused to speak with her after he had taken her picture for the _Prophet_. When she asked if he was going to Apparate home with her, he'd spoken cold and clearly, giving the excuse that he needed to finish developing the pictures for the morning copy of the _Prophet_. Things hadn't faired any better with Draco as she watched him walk by, casting a glare in her direction, Pansy attached to his arm.  
  
Ginny was no closer to opening the door, when a loud crash from the other side, brought her to her feet. Maybe Colin had lied to her and in his inebriated state had fallen and hurt himself. She quickly used her wand, unlocked the bolts, and ran in. But what she saw made her exhale sharply enough to be considered a scream.  
  
Colin's framed photos that had adorned the sitting room's walls, littered the floor, reduced to splinters and glass. Their small overstuffed sofa was turned over along with their tiny television and bookcase that had been holding personal and Ministry books. Pages had been ripped from their spines and left in a pile on the bright green rug. Ginny turned her head, when a deep yell of aggravation came from further in their flat. The next sounds made her heart quicken. Footsteps, belonging to whoever had done this, were becoming louder as the intruder stomped his way back through the flat. The figure draped in dark brown robes, came to a halt at the arched entrance to the hall. His face was shielded with the hood of his cloak, but she could see his dark eyes looking at her. She motionlessly watched his hand big, firm, and armed with its wand, lift level with her eyes.  
  
*~*~*   
  
Draco laid in bed, unsuccessfully chasing thoughts of Ginny Weasley in her thin white dress out of his mind.   
  
_'Why did I kiss her?'_ he asked himself, taking another generous sip from the filled glass, Tink had made him. The Ogden's Old Firewhisky, burned from his throat all the way down to the pit of his stomach, and it was a welcome distraction from the realization of kissing Ginny Weasley. Not that he had disliked the gentle way she kissed, or the way she felt so fragile under his fingers, such contradictions to the strong witch she was. The problem lied in the fact that he had liked the way her lips felt against his own; he liked the feeling of power he had holding her against him, and how he longed to hold her against his body again, the scent of vanilla and sandalwood drugging him. He shook his head trying to clear it of impish thoughts of Ginny, and when he failed, he drained the glass and let it fall to floor with a crash of crystal and stone.  
  
He yawned, enjoying the burning in his stomach. He'd figure out something tomorrow. All he wanted now was to sleep.  
  
TBC  
  
Liked it. Loathed it. Found a typo. Review and tell me whatcha think!   
  
Another A/N: I've already begun work on the 10th chapter so it shouldn't take as long to get it out. Again I apologize for the delay.   
  
Reviewers:   
Thanks so much to: **Kassidy**-Yeah, I know my grammars horrid, thank the poor southern public school system for that, but thank you for the kind things you said about my story **Ferggirl99**-I hope you were able to finally read chapter 5 **Blood of a Reptile**-Thanks, I'll try and work on it as much as I can. **Danielle**-Thanks for the review and I hope I didn't dissappoint and you liked the ball. **Evon**-Your not stupid at all and I believe I answered your question in the chapter. **Fierydragon1**-I hope so more things fall into place. Thanks for the review. **Katrina**- You wrote an excellent story and I'm honoured to have you read mine. I hope you write a sequel to yours and come back for the next chapter of mine. **Letylyf**-I thankyou for the offer of Beta but I hope having three has cleaned up my grammar enough. But I thankyou none the less. Also, I'm glad you enjoy the story. I tried to keep it original and fresh and hope I don't dissappoint with this chapter. **If I missed anyone I'm very sorry and I do thank you. **  



	10. Chapter 10

Dedicated to **Tegan**- who does as much as she can with what I give her. Who sifts patiently through my grammatical errors, gibberish, and all-around nonsense sentences and tells me about them with soft-blow constructive criticism. Thanks so much Tegan. and **AntD** who let's me torture her with my insane plot twists and gives me a backboard to bounce my future angst from. Thanks AntD   
  
_**Chapter Ten: A Prowler, The Prophet, and the Last Remaining Price **_  
  
Ginny had never been one to perfect the art of dueling. Sure, she had traded hexes and curses with her brothers and occasionally the ill tempered schoolmate, but she had never truly matched her skills against someone of equal stature, and the intruder who stood before her, his wand pointed in her direction, was not found wanting in the skills department. But none of this appeared to occur to Ginny's body as it instinctively fell into a defensive position, instantly arming itself with her own wand.  
  
There was a moment, a timeless instant, when the two stood frozen and watching. Ginny's muscles tensed and a chill ran down her spine as she felt his bore into her. The sound of the rapid beats of her heart were pounding relentlessly against her eardrums. The smooth wooden weapon, under the curled fingers of her right hand, was shaking with the force of a fear she hadn't felt since the beginning days of the war. The smells of burning paper and hair reminding her that her possessions had begun to flame in a heap atop Colin's shaggy green rug feet away from where she stood. Taking the initiative, Ginny cast her own hex before her intruder could cast his.  
  
One of Ginny's favorite dueling hexes hit her intruder with enough force to knock him to the ground, the hood of his cloak falling back, as he slid across the dirty floor and through the swinging kitchen door. But Ginny wasn't paying this mind, as for the second time that day, she acted instinctively and performed a spell she had learned when she was still too young, Apparating to the safest place she could recall in her overexcited state.  
  
As her feet met the overgrown grass of the Burrow which was covered in a new coat of dew, her calves and ankles felt damp under her dress. The mid-autumn night air was making her shiver under her cloak, the warming charms that had never worn off not helping chase the gooseflesh away as she stood before the charred remains of the house she'd spent the first seventeen years of her life in.   
  
"Why did I Apparate here?" she asked herself aloud, looking up at the black skeletal remains that had been her childhood home.   
  
She had only visited the Burrow in her dreams, not daring to come during the day, much less make a visit at night. So why was she standing on the front lawn?   
  
Her only answers were the sounds of the nocturnal animals who were conversing to each other in their own languages, agitated at her for disturbing their normally quite routines. The screech of a particularly annoyed owl pulled her from her thoughts, not allowing her the chance to reflect, and without a second thought Ginny Apparated to the safety of her brother's home.  
  
With the night's events crashing down upon her, Ginny began shaking as she stood outside the home of her older brother Ron, hoping he had decided to come home. The pristine white sheep's wool of her cloak was unable to subside the chills that she was feeling on the inside at the memory of a menacing wand pointed between her eyes.   
  
She quickly climbed the three concrete steps to the large front door and lifted the golden knocker. It was cold and surprisingly heavy underneath her fingers; she assumed it had a weighted charm placed upon it as a subtle hint by her brother and his roommates to dissuade late callers.   
  
"Come on Ron, answer the door," she ordered aloud. In her anxiety, she was unconsciously shifting her weight from the balls of her feet to the thick black heels of her Mary Janes, her front teeth bearing down on the ragged nail of her thumb.   
  
Silence was her only answer, but as she lifted her hand to the knocker to tap again, the sound of someone moving behind the thick red door made Ginny pause. She listened to the sounds of their many wards and locks being released and it opened revealing a muddled, Harry Potter.   
  
His black hair was messier than usual, and he wasn't wearing his glasses, unveiling the results of a night of drinking in the premature lines of his face. In the small amount of light flooding out from behind him, Ginny could see he was bare-chested under his dark dressing-gown.   
  
"Ginny?" he asked, vainly trying to hide his semi-naked form and steadily holding the door ajar. "What's wrong?"   
  
"I need to see Ron."   
  
"Why?" he asked, reluctantly widening the door enough for her to enter in way of an invitation. It was an apprehensive habit he had developed over the years, never allowing anyone into his home before he fully understood their intentions.   
  
Rushing across the threshold into the warmth of their home, Ginny walked straight to the bottom of the stairs ignoring the neatly piled text books on the coffee table and the dog-eared messy heap of Quidditch magazines atop the end tables.   
  
"Ron!" she yelled up the stairs, disregarding the other sleeping occupant of the cozy home.   
  
"Ginny?" Ron asked, appearing at the top of the stairs in nothing but his white undershirt and candy stripped boxers. "What's wrong?"   
  
"Man-in-flat," Ginny stammered, surprised at the shake in her own voice.   
  
"What?" he asked again, running down the stairs to reach his sister. However, in the poor lighting of the front-hall, he stumbled on the bottom step, falling to the taupe carpeted floor.   
  
"What is going on, Ron?" Hermione asked, her white dressing-gown floating behind her like a cloak in her rush to get down. "Who is here, Harry?"   
  
"Ginny," answered Harry, from behind her. Ginny could see he had sobered from his sleep, as he fixed the extra pair of glasses he always carried in his dressing-gown onto his nose.   
  
"What's happened?" Ron demanded, using the banister to lift himself from the floor. Ginny could see the long pink scar on the muscle of his upper arm that had only been marked by rusty freckles before the war.   
  
"Was he a Death Eater?" Harry asked, his question more of a demanding one than one of interest.   
  
Ginny had seen her share of Death Eaters, draped in their menacing black robes and white faceless masks, but her attacker had been wearing a shabby brown cloak and between the oversized hood and the barely lit flat she had not seen a mask. Remembering the panic she had been under, Ginny couldn't let herself rely on an unclear memory.   
  
"Don't know," she answered, her eyes never leaving the comfort of her brother's as he moved to her, Hermione behind him.   
  
"How can you not know?" Harry insisted, hastily. "It's a simple yes or no question? Was he or wasn't he a Death Eater"   
  
"I said I don't know!" Ginny snapped, her voice breaking. "I walk into my flat, my home, to find everything I own destroyed. Only to be welcomed by a strange man pointing a wand between my eyes, so I hope you can see Harry why I wasn't too keen on checking to see if he was carrying the Dark Mark."   
  
"Someone was in your flat? Are you okay? Are you hurt?" Ron asked, his hand under her chin maneuvering her face from side to side in a parental manner, checking for scratches and bruises. Ginny could smell the soap from the bath he had taken, when he wrapped his hands around her arms. She could feel his strong grip through the material of her cloak and knew she would bruise from his overprotective nature.   
  
"Yes, Yes, and No," Ginny answered. The nervous excitement that filled the air of the small front-hall was beginning to disorientate her, and she tried to focus her energy on her brother.   
  
"Everyone calm down," Hermione demanded, stepping down from the bottom stair and tying the belt of her dressing gown into a knot around her middle. "Let us go into the sitting room and discuss this rationally."   
  
Seating herself between her brother and her friend, Ginny could feel her cloak being pulled tight under her, causing the silver fastening of her wrap to press against the base of her throat as tightly as her brother was clutching her arm.  
  
"Alright, now Ginny let us start from the beginning. You came home after the ball to find your flat was destroyed," Hermione asked soothingly. "Am I correct?"   
  
"Yes," Ginny answered.   
  
"And then what?" asked Harry. He was standing behind them in the wide arched threshold that connected the front-hall to the sitting-room and Ginny had to turn to address him.   
  
"I heard footsteps running down the hall, and a man appeared in my sitting room-"  
  
"So you're sure it was a man?" Ron asked freeing her arm and rising from his cushion next to her. Ginny watched him move silently around the arm of the sofa to stand in the threshold with his best friend.   
  
Ginny tried to recall the image of the intruder that she had seen not an hour before, but her memory was fuzzy. The intruder had been tall and broad, almost burly all signs the attacker was a man.   
  
_'But some women were burly too,'_ a thought offered.   
  
"Yes," she answered uncertainly.   
  
"Then what?" Harry asked, an irritated note in his voice.   
  
"He pulled his wand, and I pulled mine," she answered, a sort of pride coursing through her at the memory of her reflexes being so quick.  
  
"You dueled?" Harry asked, his disbelief apparent.   
  
"If you call knocking your opponent on his arse, dueling. Then yes we dueled," Ginny said, letting her immodesty shine through in the strength of her voice.  
  
"And then?" Hermione asked. Ginny could feel the girl's soft hand on her forearm, and she turned to face her.   
  
"I hexed him, and he fell into the kitchen. Then, I Apparated to the safest place I could think."   
  
"Here?" Ron asked.   
  
"Straight here," Ginny lied, not looking at her brother.   
  
"So you knocked your intruder, who could possibly be a Death Eater, unconscious and then fled here. Is that it?" Harry asked.   
  
"Yes, I suppose that's it," Ginny replied acidly, looking back at him. She noticed his green-eyes darken at her reply.   
  
"Where's Colin?" Ginny heard Hermione ask. She assumed her friend was trying to avoid an uncomfortable confrontation.   
  
"At the _Prophet,_ he had to work all night Merlin," Ginny said, hitting her forehead with the palm of her hand, feeling a pang of guilt for not worrying for her best-friend earlier. "I have to owl him before he gets home."   
  
"Who cares about Creevey?" Ron asked, "We need to get over to Gin's apartment right away."   
  
"I agree," said Harry instantly, as if it was second nature and didn't require any thought.   
  
"That is just silly. Not to mention completely rash," Hermione chided. Her words were serious, but there was a tinkle of a laugh in her voice. Ginny assumed it was from her brother and Harry's foolish impulsiveness.   
  
"Plus, you don't even have your wands," Ginny added, tactlessly scanning their semi-exposed bodies. But in the time it took her eyes to move from their bare feet to the top of their mussed hair, both men had drawn their wands from behind them.   
  
"You were saying baby sister?" Ron asked, the beginnings of a smirk forming on his pale lips.   
  
"Well," she replied lazily, trying to stall and hide the astonishment she held at her brother and his friend's reflexes. "I honestly don't want to know where you two keep those things."   
  
"What things?" Hermione asked, giving an embarrassed smile. Ginny could see her friend's face blushing even in the soft light from the end tables' lamps.   
  
Ginny's attention was pulled from Hermione as Ron asked, "Ready to go?" His question was clearly directed at his best friend, as Ron's blue-eyes rested on him, apparently waiting for Harry's confirmation. The scene of trust and enduring friendship that unfolded between the two young men before Ginny caused a small sting of jealousy to bubble within her.   
  
"Yep!" Harry said.   
  
With a loud pop, they disappeared from the threshold they had been standing in.   
  
"They went without us!" Ginny said angrily, still staring into the space her brother and friend had been inhabiting moments before.   
  
"Yes, I see that," Hermione said, in a nonchalant voice. "But, it will only be a matter of time before they realize they went without their underwear too."  
  
Ginny looked back at her a queer expression on her face. How could Hermione be so calm about this? Yes, she had lived with the boys for some years and had been brought on their numerous 'adventures,' but she still should've felt a little apprehension.   
  
Reading Ginny's mood, Hermione sighed, "Don't worry about them, Ginny. They can hold their own and there's very little chance that they'll find anything."  
  
"I suppose your right," Ginny said, reclining back, letting her head rest on the back of the sofa. Strangely the adrenalin that had been pumping wild through her veins since she had stepped into her flat was slowing to a crawl and the small pains and annoyances that had affected her earlier in the evening began nagging her again. Starting with the pinch of her leather shoes.  
  
"Do you mind if I take my these off? They can be terribly painful you know?" Ginny asked, bending over, playing with the silver buckle and black leather of her shoe.  
  
"Of course," Hermione answered, slightly embarrassed that she hadn't suggested to her guest to get comfortable sooner.   
  
"Actually, I have an extra set of pajamas if you'd liked to change. It's not as if you can go back to your flat or go anywhere else this evening."   
  
In comfortable silence, both girls rose from the cushy blue sofa and walked the short distance to the staircase. Ginny followed Hermione up the stairs and into her host's bedroom.  
  
Hermione's room was designed and maintained much like its owner. Ginny could see her shelved books, knick-knacks, and neatly arranged perfume bottles had been recently dusted, and the oak-vanity was void of any spills of powder or fingerprints on the mirror. She envied the carpeted floor as it lacked the piles of dirty laundry that littered her own. Not a forgotten sock kicked-off in the dead of night cluttered her floor. Ginny assumed that even her under-things and shoes were color coordinated and set at ninety-degree angles.  
  
"Here you are," Hermione said, handing her a folded pair of pajamas and stopping her from analyzing the room any further.   
  
"You can change in here," she explained, walking to the open door. "I'll be downstairs making some tea or coffee or whatever Harry brought home the other day. He was supposed to go shopping, but you know Harry?"   
  
At the sound of the door shutting, Ginny flopped down onto Hermione's bed, the firm mattress and pastel quilt sinking under her weight. She undid the buckles of her shoes and slipped each off, massaging the raw red lines on the tops of and soles of her bare feet that were left by the leather. She unfastened the gold pin holding her cloak and let it slide down her bare back, the soft material reminding her of Draco's hands roaming her back. She sighed aloud. Draco was not a man she should spend her time worrying over, but the idea of him lying beside Pansy Parkinson at that moment, made the pit of her stomach flop with jealousy. She shook her head, successfully ridding herself of thoughts of the blonde, and pulled on the top Hermione had given her. The material was a little rougher than the well-worn pajamas Ginny was accustomed to wearing, and the white tubing found on the hem was irritating her skin. She stood, letting her dress fall to the floor and was stepping out of it, when she heard the boys pop into the ground floor.  
  
~*~*~*~   
  
"We secured the perimeter. The flat was clean," Ron announced, his voice and broad but drooped shoulders showing the evidence of his disappointment.   
  
Ginny and Hermione stared back at him, both showing their inexperience with Ron's Auror's jargon.   
  
"In other words, there was no one else there," Harry said, an image of dissatisfaction etched into the bright green eyes behind his glasses. He was gazing down at his wand with a detached look gracing the handsome features of his face. "By the way," he said turning to her, "Colin Flooed in while we were there. I thought the poor chap was going to have a heart attack."   
  
"And my things?" Ginny asked, bracing herself for the worse.   
  
"Sorry Gin," answered Ron. "Most of the books were still burning when we arrived. Harry put them out, but all that was left was a great pile of ashes."  
  
"The furniture?" she asked putting her head in her hands.   
  
"Well," Harry offered, "the sofa is salvageable with a few mending charms, but your television is beyond repair magical or otherwise."   
  
"Great! Now Mum and Dad will have even more to complain about," said a familiar voice. Ginny turned her head to see who was in the threshold behind her. Colin was standing under the archway, a folded newspaper in his right hand but Ginny ignored it. She was just happy to see her best friend.  
  
"Colin!" she cried. Without a second thought, she leapt from her seat on the sofa and rushed to him, flinging her arms around his neck. "Oh Merlin, I'm glad you're alright."   
  
"I might say the same," he replied to her, his voice muffled in her hair. Quickly he curled his arms around her middle, matching the eagerness of her hug. Ginny could feel the camera he wore from his neck painfully pressing into her chest, but she didn't loosen her grip.   
  
"I'll make some tea," Hermione said.   
  
~*~*~*~   
  
Ginny watched from one side of the blue island as Colin settled on the wooden barstool across from her, a set of yellow pajamas that Hermione had given him to wear, adorning his thin body. Together they sat alone in the kitchen after being shooed in like children by Hermione, so that she, Harry, and Ron could discuss 'The Incident'. Ginny looked down to the copy of the _Prophet_ that Colin had slapped down on the counter between them. The moving black and white inked picture showed herself in the less than happy mood she had been in at the time.   
  
"Read it," he ordered.   
  
_Harmless Fun or A Deadly Game: Weasley Brothers overstep their bounds by drugging their guests_.   
  
Despite the nasty byline that begged for her to throw it into the dustbin Ginny continued reading.   
  
_Yesterday evening as promised by this paper I, Lita Gross, attended one of the most exclusive social events of the year. The Annual Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes Charity Masquerade Ball began as a charming event whose guest list read more like the Wizarding who's who. Celebrities ranging from socialite Pansy Parkinson-Price to heiress Betty Bott danced the night away under the enchanted ceiling that lit itself with a maze of dazzling vibrant colours every few minutes. There is no doubt it was bewitched with the same fireworks charm that has been excessively popular at all the affluent parties this year. _   
  
"Popular?" Ginny scoffed putting down the paper, "I haven't seen that charm anywhere-"   
  
"Just finish reading Gin, you'll have plenty more to be complain about," Colin interrupted.   
  
_The incident that launched the party's disastrous fate was the violent confrontation between Draco Malfoy, sole heir of the Malfoy family fortune, and Ronald Weasley, Auror and decorated war veteran. Mr. Malfoy was dancing with his beautiful young partner when an unprovoked Mr. Weasley attacked him. Mr. Malfoy, being obviously more mature, did not strike back. The childish squabble was ended when Mr. Weasley was restrained by his fellow partygoer and long time best friend, Harry Potter. What invoked the violent outburst? Envy? Jealously? Apparently not. Mr. Malfoy's dance partner was identified as Virginia Weasley, the youngest and only sister of the famous Weasley brothers. _  
  
_What of Wraith? Pride? Lust? Sloth? Gluttony? _  
  
_It seems any of these wicked traits can be easily invoked by taking a lengthy sip of WWW's new drink "Seven-Sins-Swing." _  
  
_The controversial beverage was used to illegally experiment on the unsuspecting and by invitation-only guests. Although no formal complaints have been filed against the probationary twins, there will no doubt be criticisms. _  
  
_The mysterious new beverage forces you to act on feelings that are normally restrained by your inhibitions. It seemed to be working its chemical and charmed magic on other party guests as well. Holyhead Harpies Seeker Cho Chang was seen hoarding a number of hors d'oeuvre filled trays, while Ministry worker Seamus Finnegan dumped goblets of the color changing liquid onto contemporary artist Dean Thomas._  
  
_As you can see from photographer Colin Creevey's photo, most of the guests fell victim to the more innocent and less potent sin of Sloth. Just another example where the Weasley Twins have created another loophole to dodge the consequences of their irresponsible actions. _  
  
Ginny folded the paper and put it back onto the clean top of the island.   
  
"Stupid _'Envious'_ bitch," Ginny scowled, looking down at the newspaper as if it would argue with her.   
  
"Nobody listens to her anyway, but don't you see Ginny. Now I know that it wasn't your fault...It was those devilish brothers of yours. I should have known you'd never lie to me. Running about with Draco Malfoy." Colin smiled, leaning onto his elbows, the pastel material sliding easily over the smooth counter.   
  
"It wasn't my brothers' fault Colin," Ginny answered. Looking up from the paper at Colin, whose confusion was anything but hidden from her, she scraped her fingers through her thick hair, bringing it up and tying it with the elastic-band she'd stolen from Hermione's vanity.   
  
It wasn't fair to Colin for her to keep lying to him; it wasn't as if he ever kept anything from her. She had been the first person he had confided in that he didn't find himself attracted to the opposite sex, but instead he found himself drawn more in the general Wizards' direction. She had been the shoulder he cried on when the father, he idolized, said to him that he couldn't handle his son being a _Nancy boy_. Besides, he had always been a good friend, and he wasn't going to run and tell the Trio. Taking a deep breath, Ginny began,"Colin, you're my friend right?"   
  
"Of course I am," he answered.   
  
"Then there's something I need to tell you."   
  
The words flowed freely from her lips, her tongue becoming more agile with every sentence she completed. Her guilty conscience began to breath again under the lightened weight of her reformed lies.   
  
She watched as Colin's squinty eyes grew wide with astonishment when she spoke of the map and when they narrowed with suspicion when she used Draco's name.   
  
She kept from him the intimate details of the things she had discovered about Draco. Details about his mother's illness, the sunburn he'd suffered when going to Egypt, the way his skin was always so warm when he touched her, the twitches his lips suffered when he tried not to laugh, the grey his eyes turned when they darkened on her...   
  
"Colin to Ginny?" Colin asked, waving his small hand before her eyes.   
  
"Sorry Colin," she apologized, shaking her head to clear it of such thoughts. "Do you see why I have to keep it secret now? Why no one can find out? If Draco is successful, and he actually finds this place, the possibilities are limitless."   
  
"Yes, Gin but it's Draco-I'm so evil, I was born to be a Death Eater-Malfoy that we're discussing here. He could easily _'limit **your** possibilities.'_"   
  
"He's not like that. He's changed and there's no evidence proving he was a Death Eater."   
  
"Yes, but there's also no evidence proving he wasn't. The git just disappeared during the war and didn't return till it was over. Besides even if he wasn't a Death Eater, he was cruel. Do you remember the things he use to say, about you, your family, your_ mum_."   
  
"No, I haven't forgotten...But everyone deserves the chance to redeem themselves."   
  
"I disagree," Colin said, leaning back on his stool.   
  
"Some people don't deserve forgiveness for the things they've done."   
  
"Everyone deserves some degree of forgiveness," she answered, the anger she was feeling at his ignorance boiling in her. "Especially if that person is trying to change."   
  
"Well, he didn't seem like he was trying to change to me. Walking about the ball with Pansy Parkinson, who happens to be very light on her feet by the way, on his arm and snogging with you in the shadows."   
  
"What do you mean by that?"   
  
"I would never try and hurt your feelings Gin, you know this, but it was just another way for him to hold you in your place. Parading about with one of the social-elite and then playing with you, his_ little secret._"  
  
"You say it like more was happening than what actually was, as if I'm _dirty_ or something. I'm not _**dirty**_ Colin!"   
  
"I don't see you that way, but he might. When it comes down to it and you strip away everything getting down to the bone, Gin, he's still the same Malfoy, who teased and tortured and was an incredible arse to you and everyone else, who thought it wasn't a good day until someone tripped, fell, and groveled at his big expensive shoed feet."   
  
"You're right," Ginny lied, finding it easier to agree with her best friend's logic than to argue against him. Colin could be very pigheaded at moments, and it was effortless to let him believe he won even when he didn't.   
  
"Of course I'm right." He shoveled a teacake into his mouth, giving her a smile of brown crumbs.   
  
Ginny opened her mouth, ready to continue their friendly banter, but stopped short of speaking as the sound of shattering porcelain crashed into the kitchen.   
  
*~*~*   
  
Hermione paused opening the swinging door to their kitchen at the sound of Ginny's voice.   
  
The first word she heard her friend use was _Malfoy _and then _Map_. This was odd in itself, but for some reason the words seem to fit together and hold a great importance, as if she had heard them somewhere before, but she couldn't remember who had spoken them or where.   
  
_Rare _  
  
_Map _  
  
_Egypt _  
  
_Hogwarts _  
  
_Utopia _  
  
_Founders _  
  
_Bound _  
  
_Blood _  
  
Her mind began turning like the rusted gears of an old factory, missing pieces of her memory falling into place, filling the spans of lost and forgotten time. Her mind fighting against a magical wall trying to find an entire day that had been wiped clear was crashing straining her body, and she dropped the teapot she was carrying.  
  
*~*~*   
  
Surprisingly, Draco slept soundly that evening. If it was due to the alcohol that had been flowing freely through his veins or the relief he'd gotten from having Ginny Weasley agree to help him again, he did not know or care to examine it.   
  
However the next morning was not so pleasant. The pounding of tiny mining dwarves resounded in the deepest caves of his head. He would have been perfectly content to lie in bed for the greater part of the cool November morning and emerge sometime that evening with a craving for something with a great deal of salt, demanding it from the Manor's cook, but he was the head of his household now, and with certain privileges came certain responsibilities.   
  
He fought hard not to give into the overpowering urge to throw something heavy and iron at Tink when she opened the curtains of his massive stained glass windows, letting the sunlight spill through the multiple colored panes. He whined when she opened the door to his wardrobe and the hinge creaked.   
  
_'Where was Edmund?'_ he wondered, watching Tink move about his room gathering the effects he'd need for the day. Edmund rarely if ever allowed another house-elf to do his chores, and now Tink stood at the side of his bed, only her eyes looking at him over the horizon of his mattress.   
  
"Where's Edmund?" he asked, his throat didn't feel sore but horribly dry, and his voice came out scratchy. He knew he needed water, and he'd order her to fetch him a glass after she answered his question.  
  
"Tinks don't knows exactly sir," she answered, blinking her large brown eyes at him.   
  
"A glass of water," he ordered, but the demanding words lost their edge as they fell to a whisper. His tiny house-elf quickly scampered to the silver pitcher he kept atop the small bar in his room, and returned with a tall crystal glass of cool water that he greedily accepted.  
  
Draco took a long sip, relishing the feeling of the cool liquid slipping down his parched throat.   
  
"You haven't an idea of where he is," he asked, thankful his voice was no longer scratchy, but strong. He was bored with Tink and concentrated on one of the three paintings that adorned the massive wall opposite his bed. It had been painted over a century ago, and Draco enjoyed watching the tall grass of the Manor's front lawn move like a yellow ocean in the autumn breeze. _'Where could my house-elf be?' _he thought, his questions stemming not from concern for the health or well being of his servant, but rather from his want of a familiar attendant.  
  
"Tink didn't says that sir," the tiny house-elf answered, "Tink says she doesn't knows exactly where he is sir."   
  
Draco whipped his head around at her answer, the thin short wisps of his fringe falling onto his forehead. "Are you correcting me?" he demanded, snapping at his outspoken servant in an attempt to cow her.   
  
"No sirs," answered Tink, looking down at her shoeless feet. "Tinks didn't mean any disrespect by it, sir. Tink will iron her hands sir."   
  
Draco grimaced at the visualization of someone ironing their own hands and hoped he wouldn't regret his next statement, "Now there's no need to do that," he sighed. "Just remember your place next time. Do we have an understanding?"   
  
"Tinks understands very well, Young Master," she answered, a hint of a smile playing along her lipless mouth.   
  
The sight made him grimace more than the image of ironed fingers, and he exhaled loudly, laying back into his feather-stuffed pillows, pulling his duvet over the basic separates of the suit he'd fallen asleep in.   
  
"Why am I being nice to house-elves?" he asked audibly.   
  
_'Weasley. It has to be Weasley,'_ he answered himself bitterly, remembering the uncharacteristic gentleness he'd bestowed upon her the previous evening.   
  
"Ugh," he groaned. "What in the bloody hell possessed me to kiss her?"  
  
He didn't know why he had felt the need to cover her lips, to touch her the way he did. Maybe it was the jealousy he'd felt when he had watched her dance with Potter and Wood, their large unkempt hands gliding over her waist as they directed her around the ballroom's floor. Maybe it was the way she was looking so innocent and seductive in that shimmering white dress she had worn. Maybe it was because he could sense the sincere empathy she had for his predicament or her habit of using an uninhibited style of kind and bold words when speaking to him. Maybe it was the headstrong manner she used in defending the people she cared for and that she had shielded him when her own brother had been the attacker. But maybe, it was simply because he had wanted to kiss her; he had wanted to know what the texture of her freckled skin would feel like crushed against his own; he had wanted to taste from her kiss the fierceness that she had never tried to hide from him; he had wanted to be engulfed in that scent that was so individually her. He had wanted it all, and Malfoy's always got what they wanted.   
  
_'Dear Merlin, I'm outright mad,'_ he thought, worried about his mental health.   
  
He shouldn't let himself think of Ginny Weasley in this impish way. She wasn't just any employee he could do with what he wanted. No, she was _Ginny Weasley_, youngest daughter of Arthur Weasley, baby sister of six very large male Weasleys, and the only Untouchable from her department he was willing to trust. No, he definitely could not think of her this way.  
  
He pulled his duvet over his head, hoping to hide from his problems in the darkness of the black comforter, but when he closed his eyes, the image of Ginny Weasley standing next to him on the balcony appeared: the moon accenting her soft features, the shine of her bitten lips, the deep crimson of her hair, the fairness of her skin where it wasn't bathed with freckles.  
  
"Get out of my head," he whined turning onto his stomach.  
  
Ginny Weasley was definitely going to be a distraction from his purpose and he didn't need distractions.   
  
"Tink, find Edmund and bring him to my room immediately," he ordered into his pillow.   
  
"But Tink's already told Master-"  
  
He pushed himself out of the nest of pillows to yell, "I don't care! Search the whole Manor if you have to, just bring him here. I have a letter I need him to write for me."  
  
*~*~*  
  
Ginny poured herself a mug of black coffee hoping the bitter beverage would wake her up and help her forget the uncomfortable night she'd had sleeping in Ron's extra-firm bed. He had offered to sleep on the floor and Ginny suspected that he chose it because the wooden floor was softer than his stone like mattress. Behind her, she heard the door swing open, and tilting her head, she saw Hermione sit down at the small island in the center of the kitchen. She kept her back to her host, adding another cube of white sugar to her slowly browning coffee.  
  
"Mornin'," she greeted, blowing onto the surface of her hot drink.  
  
"Ginny," Hermione answered, in a tone that worried her.   
  
"Yes," she replied, not turning around. Had something else happened? Did Colin find something after he left to clean their flat this morning? Did something happen to Ron or Harry when they went flying?  
  
"I am not sure exactly how to bring this up to you other then to start off saying that I over heard some of your conversation with Colin yesterday evening, and I can't help but agree with him."   
  
"You were outside the door eavesdropping?" Ginny questioned, turning around to face Hermione, hoping the porcelain cup in her hands wasn't shaking.   
  
"I overheard you, when I was bringing the tea in last night."  
  
"How much did you hear?" Ginny asked, desperate to hear that her friend hadn't heard much.  
  
"Enough to start putting pieces together," Hermione answered regrettably.   
  
"What pieces?"  
  
"Over a month ago, a co-worker of mine came into my office speaking of a conversation that we had the previous day, but I hadn't remembered talking to him at all. Then there was that odd conversation we had over the telephone when you were going batty about some map that you claimed I knew about; then this week we had that strange incident with Malfoy in Flourish and Blotts when you called him _Draco_, but none of this made any real sense to me until early this morning when I overheard you explaining everything to Colin. Then things, missing parts of my memory, began snapping into place."  
  
"That's impossible! No one can work through a Memory Charm," Ginny exclaimed more to herself than to Hermione. Dropping her coffee cup into the sink, Ginny felt her stomach flopping.   
  
"Not really Ginny. Some people who've been trained to fight against Unforgivables have been able to break through the barriers, but with slight damages to their minds. I've read about them."  
  
"Not that I'm not happy that your mind's performing well Hermione, but you seem to have everything in working order," Ginny asked, letting her eyes narrow on her friend. What wasn't Hermione telling her?  
  
"Well," Hermione sighed, looking down to the island's blue top. "We had some extra training."   
  
"_Extra training_? Of course it was _'extra training'_" Ginny breathed, as if she understood.   
  
"Professor McGonagall insisted Harry have it," Hermione replied. "The month after the end of our seventh year, they held a workshop of sorts. All three of us had to participate, even Neville was required to attend. It was just a basic training against certain charms in case we were ever-"  
  
"Caught by the enemy," Ginny answered, curtly. "Well fortunately none of you were."  
  
Hermione looked up, her untamed curls falling around her head, and Ginny saw a sudden anger pass over her normally comforting brown eyes when they locked with her own.  
  
"So I reckon you remember everything," Ginny said calmly, testing the waters of their delicate conversation. "I won't blame you if you can't wait to scurry off and tell Harry and my brother everything?" she accused softly. The anger she felt at herself for opening her mouth misplaced itself onto the girl sitting across from her.  
  
"You don't see them running in here do you?"  
  
Ginny looked at the door half-expecting her brother to run in, accusations streaming from his lips. But the swinging door remained dormant, and she let her gaze fall back to Hermione, the confusion she was feeling freely gracing her face.  
  
"Against my better judgment, I didn't tell them yesterday evening in hopes that you would have the maturity to tell them yourself or find your own way out of this problem."  
  
"What problem?" Ginny asked.   
  
"You and Malfoy of course."  
  
Ginny opened her mouth to argue that Draco was not a problem, when a beautiful eagle-owl, she recognized instantly as Draco's, flew through the open window of the kitchen, a neatly tied envelope tied to his clawed foot.  
  
"Bit early for post," Hermione commented, adding another block of sugar to her own coffee.   
  
Ginny ignored her and untied the red ribbon holding the envelope from the bird's leg and read her name, smiling to herself at the neat silver lettering. She opened the envelope and pulled out her letter looking over it, she frowned. The hand writing didn't belong to Draco; she had received too many whiny letters from him to recognize his script but it was written as if from him.  
  
She looked over the letter again, the scratchy handwriting looked as if it had been written by a young child, but it was legible. In plain print, were written the words: _Drako will be takeing a hollyday to Amerika_. Not only was he going to vacation, leave her with the piles of books and maps that needed to be researched and worked over, but he had added insult to injury by having someone else write his letter of dismissal.  
  
"Holiday?" Ginny asked, in disbelief. "After everything that's happened, everything that needs to be done, he is going on _holiday_."  
  
"Who's it from?" Hermione asked, feeding the handsome owl a small biscuit.  
  
Ginny stuffed the letter back into the envelope it had come in, resisting the urge to crumble it under her fist and throw it into the dustbin. Anger at the blonde young man's thoughtless behavior stirred in her as she looked out the small window of the kitchen, a plan of her own running in her mind. If he was going to be so inconsiderate, she could be inconsiderate too.  
  
"Hermione," she said, turning around, a fake smile pulling up her lips. "Have you ever seen Malfoy Manor?"  
  
*~*~*  
  
Draco sat high in the morning air, the new _Comet 560_ he had ordered resting between his khaki corduroy clad legs. The long-sleeves of the green knit shirt he wore protecting his fair arms, helping to keep his body as warm as it could possibly get. He had decided against dressing in full traditional Quidditch attire, choosing only the certain pieces he knew he would need to fly comfortably.  
  
Accustomed to having only the needles from the pine trees that surrounded the manicured grounds of the Manor to disturb, the unseasonably cold wind was currently whipping at his face, stirring the short locks of hair that he hadn't bothered to comb back.   
  
He waited patiently as Edmund gathered the charmed golf balls using his elf-magic to put them high into the air for Draco to practice catching. Draco, from years of exercising his favourite sport, had caught almost all the small white spheres before they could reach the ground. A small number, the house-elf had not fixed very high, had fallen to the dull grass below his airborne master, only adding to Draco's quick temper.  
  
_'Why does everything insist on defying me?'_ he asked himself, watching as Edmund charmed another ball to fly effortlessly through the air.  
  
Bending low to his broom, he began to take a sharp dive enjoying the effect the quick descent had on his mind and body. When he was flying nothing else mattered, not the problems of his mother, not his failing Quidditch team, and especially not the predicament he had gotten himself into with Ginny Weasley.  
  
He outstretched his arm to clasp his hand around the small white ball, when a heavy and unfamiliar object flew into him, nearly knocking him from his broom.  
  
"What the hell?!" he yelled, clenching his thighs around his broomstick and grasping the polished handle with one hand to keep himself from falling. He squinted, his eyes trying to shield his vision as the object flapped its wings and feathers at him.  
  
"Fecking owl!" he barked, answering himself as he used his free hand to bat at the foolish bird. "Edmund!" he called down, in hopes his daft servant understood that this surprise attack was not part of his morning's regiment. "Get this bloody bird off me!"  
  
Draco heard the voice of the small house-elf booming up to him then a flash of white light that left his vision blinded by a black wall.   
  
Darkness was Draco's only companion for several minutes. The bliss of no thought or sense was brief as slowly and painfully, the consciousness that had fled from him began to drift back.  
  
The first solid thing he noticed was the aching throb in his right shoulder and the smell of dirt and grass.  
  
"Young Master? Young Master?" a squeaky uncertain voice asked him.   
  
He slowly turned over and sat up, but the action only succeeded in increasing the stabbing pain that ran rampant along his right side; he blinked his eyes at the pale blue sky and searing sun. His house-elf moved to stand and shade him, an envelope in one thin hand and an unattractive large brown owl perched on his shoulder, the weight of the bird causing the small elf to lean to the side.  
  
_'What just happened?'_ he asked himself, staring up from the ground at his tiny servant and his fowl companion. He looked around him, his _Comet_, intact, laid dormant a few yards from where he sat in the grass. He looked down to his feet, his shiny black boots sitting out of Edmund's small shade, reflecting the sun, his corduroy trousers stained with smears from clumps of dirt and grass that were now ingrained in the lined khaki fabric. There was a numbing pain that streamed up from his thigh but Draco tried ignoring it by moving to his knit shirt. The soft material already green, had traces of red-brown spread across his chest starting at the base of his right shoulder. He attempted to test his shoulder and rolled it in its socket, but the movement only resulted in a blinding pain that caused his body to lose its breath.  
  
"Not that Young Masters cares but Edmunds think that Young Masters should not move too much," the tiny house-elf offered.  
  
"And I advise that Edmund, _the house-elf_, mind his own bloody business," Draco hissed through his teeth, the pain in his shoulder rekindling his previous sour temperament.  
  
He closed his eyes and bit hard into his bottom lip, prolonging the unavoidable task of witnessing what the ground had done to his side. He slowly opened his eyelids and looked down. His arm was laying limply against his side, the green sleeve torn showing his quickly bruising skin, but Draco ignored this. His attention was at the unnaturally awkward angle his limb had made, displaying the first place it had broken. His stomach felt queasy and the world around him grew fuzzy. He looked up to his tiny servant who was no more than a green and brown blur against a blue fog, for help, before the colourful cloud went black.  
  
*~*~*  
  
Hermione Apparated with Ginny to her friend's flat. She had been surprised at the sight before her, the overturned sofa, the pile of swept up splinters and shards of broken glass, the small pile of ashes and burnt paper that may have once been books or parchments.  
  
"My goodness Ginny," she exclaimed, looking over the empty walls and dirty floor.   
  
"Yeah, I know," Ginny responded. Her dark brown eyes, filled with dejection, swept over everything.  
  
Both Hermione and Ginny jumped as Colin popped his head around the corner of their kitchen door.   
  
"Merlin Colin," Ginny scolded, placing a freckled hand over her still chest. "Don't sneak up on people like that."   
  
"Sorry 'bout that love," he answered, fully pushing the door open, revealing his younger brother and an equally dirty kitchen.  
  
"Morning Miss Granger, Morning Ginny," Dennis greeted, sending them a boyish smile.  
  
"Mornin' Dennis," Ginny answered, before turning back to Hermione. "I'll be right back," she explained and Hermione nodded, before she made her way down the short hall to her room.  
  
"How's your mornin' been Miss Granger?" asked Dennis, as he helped his brother to return their sofa to its upright position.   
  
Hermione couldn't help but smile at the young boy; he was always so respectful and polite. "You don't have to call me Miss Granger, you can call me Hermione."  
  
"Hear that Den, you can call her Hermione," Colin said, pulling out his wand and repairing a rather large slash that was spilling cotton across the sitting cushions.   
  
"Yes, but you're a Miss are you not?" Dennis asked, squatting down and sifting through the rubble of glass and splinters.  
  
"True, but so is Ginny and you don't call her Miss Weasley," Hermione responded, a little impressed when Dennis fully restored the frame, minus the pictures.   
  
"Yeah...But Ginny's just...Ginny," he answered, reaching for more debris.  
  
"Gossiping about me are you?" asked Ginny, playfully. She walked to stand by Hermione, her clothes had changed from the set of blue pajamas she had been wearing to a sweater and old faded jeans, but she still failed to run a brush through her locks.  
  
"Of course," Colin answered, mending another hole in their sofa. "I was just telling everyone about your lime-green knickers fetish."  
  
"Oh, you know that's not true," Ginny said huffily, pushing the door to the kitchen open before walking in.  
  
"She's right," he said loudly, before whispering, "it's really hunter green."  
  
"Speaking of knickers," Ginny said, pushing the door open again, carrying the envelope from breakfast in one hand and a butterbeer in her other. "Thanks for cleaning my room, Colin. It looks great, but you didn't have to fold all my under things."  
  
"I didn't clean your room. Dennis did," Colin snickered. Hermione looked over to Dennis, who was sitting, next to a stack of completed frames, his face blushing under his mop of mousy hair, his eyes wide with embarrassment and shock.   
  
"I-I-I," he sputtered.   
  
"Just joshin'," Colin quickly added. "It was me."  
  
"It's okay, Den," Ginny said sprightly, surprising Hermione that her redheaded quick-tempered friend hadn't tackled the young man to the ground and pummeled him on Colin's first words. "I suppose it's an even trade, you clean up my flat and you can prance around in my lingerie."  
  
"Where are you two going today?" Colin asked, seeming to just notice Ginny's fresh clothes.   
  
"Just a little extra work," Ginny answered, and Hermione was again surprised when her friend finished her butterbeer in two hardy swigs.  
  
*~*~*  
  
Draco slowly opened his eyes, realizing that he had done that entirely too many times that day. High above him was the tall ceiling of his canopy bed, and the long dark curtains that hung down from it were open around him. Standing to the left of his bed was a tall thin woman, whom he recognized from her graying brown knot and blue apron to be a Mediwitch. He wondered briefly what she was doing in his room before the obvious answer presented itself to him.  
  
"Mother?" he asked letting the worry he felt sound in his voice. "What's wrong she hasn't- She's not-"  
  
_'Dead?'_ he asked himself, too afraid to voice his suspicions. Sitting-up he let the clean dark sheets of his bed fall to his waist.   
  
"No sir, Mister Malfoy. Your mother's perfectly fine. There hasn't been any decline in your mother's condition." Her soft soothing voice and gentle brown gaze gave him a warm comforting feeling, but if Mother wasn't dying then why was she in his private quarters and why wasn't he wearing a shirt?  
  
"Tell me why you're in my room," he ordered, resting on the heels of his palms, unaware of the absence of pain in his shoulder.   
"Edmund can answer that sir," he heard the squeak of his most prized house-elf, Edmund who stood opposite of the nurse.   
  
"Young Master had fallen from his broom because of Edmund's elf-magic but it was not Edmund's fault. Edmund did not mean to hurt Young Master. Edmund-"  
  
Draco lifted his hand demanding stillness from his servant. He'd rather choose silence than listen to the boring explanation of his account, when he'd determined how the events had unfolded himself.  
  
"Enough Edmund," he said, narrowing his eyes onto his house-elf at the memory of the pain he endured when waking face down in dirt and grass. "I'll deal with how you'll punish yourself later."  
  
He turned away from Edmund to address the Mediwitch on the condition of his arm, when he noticed the horrified expression she wore.  
  
"Just a joke between myself and my free servant," he added quickly. She just moved her crowfeet lined eyes between himself and his house-elf.  
  
"My shoulder," he said stiffly, aggravated at the accusations he read from her. "Isn't that why you're here, to treat my shoulder?"   
  
"Yes sir," she answered. "I repaired your numerous injuries with a new drought we, the Mediwitches and I, have been experimenting on, for your mother of course. But I must warn you sir, it does have its side effects."  
  
"Numerous?" Draco asked, ignoring the majority of what she had said.   
  
"Well, you dislocated your right humerus from the muscles that form your rotator cuff-"  
  
"I'd prefer my diagnosis in English."   
  
The Mediwitch sighed before starting over, "You dislocated your right shoulder, pulled the muscles of your forearm and bruised a large portion of you rib cage. You also successfully caused two hairline fractures in your femur, or thigh bone. All evidence of the obvious attempts you took at trying to break your fall. I have a question Mister Malfoy. How far from the ground were you when you lost control of your broom?"   
  
"I don't know. How far did I fall Edmund?" he gritted though his teeth looking with anger at his servant. He watched with a grim satisfaction as his ancient house-elf grimaced under his glare, his tiny hands holding the same white envelope Draco had seen him with on the lawn.   
  
"What is this?" he asked, his free hand snatching the envelope from his house-elf.   
  
He flipped the envelope over examining both sides, taking in the stationary and the blue wax branded with the Ministry's official insignia that sealed it.  
  
"Open it," he ordered, handing it back.   
  
Edmund struggled to open the envelope but the thick paper refused to yield under his gray-green fingers. He looked up to Draco, his large blue-eyes full of worry at his inability to follow his Master's simple orders. Draco saw determination fall across his servant's pointy face as he quickly cast his eyes down again at the task before him.  
  
Feeling his anger slowly subsiding at the humourous scene before him, Draco watched with amusement as Edmund struggle with the white note. He knew there was a charm on his letters that prohibited any being but himself from opening the envelope, but it was nice to see some of his servants still held a respect for him.  
  
"Oh, give it here," Draco snapped, snatching the envelope from his servant's struggling fingers.  
  
Smirking, he pressed the envelope into his thigh and slipped his index finger underneath the flap to break the wax seal.   
  
"Now that wasn't so difficult was it?" he asked sarcastically.   
  
He lifted the letter from its home and winced as he felt a stinging cold sensation run over his back, shoulder, and arm.  
  
Turning his head, he could see his Mediwitch running her gaunt fingers along the muscles of his back, leaving a trail of gooseflesh in her wake.  
  
"Could you at least _consider_ warming your hands before placing those icicles you call fingers on my body, woman," Draco snapped, rolling his eyes at her insensitivity.   
  
"Sorry Mister Malfoy," she apologized softly. Her gentle tone making Draco feel a pang of guilt, but he quickly pushed it down as an effect of the medicinal potion she had given him.  
  
"Congratulations Mister Malfoy," she said, patting him tenderly. "Your shoulder has completely healed."  
  
"So it has," he replied, rotating his shoulder comfortably in its socket. "Good job, you can go home now. Take an early evening if you like."  
  
She smiled graciously at him and Draco impatiently waited till the young Mediwitch closed the door to his room, before he held the letter up. Rolling his shoulder again, he began reading the report that was held one handed before him, his index finger and thumb holding it open.  
  
_Mr. Malfoy,_  
  
_Late yesterday evening, V. Weasley was a victim of a breaking and entering of her flat, located in south London. At the time I wrote nothing seemed to have been taken, but many official Ministry and personal effects were destroyed._  
  
_The **'Captain'** Weasley suspects Death Eater involvement, but there is no evidence to suggest that is the case._  
  
_-Mr. Smith _  
  
Draco read over the letter twice more, searching for any coded clues. Finding none, he lowered and folded the paper along its original two creases and put it in its original envelope.  
  
_'Interesting,'_ he thought, _'Who would take the time out to break into Ginny Weasley's apartment?'_  
  
A Muggle could have done it; they as a people were more inclined to do such things. No, if Aurors were involved, it had to be Wizard related. But what intelligent Wizard would take the risk of stealing from the Head Auror's younger sister? He had been in Weasley and Creevey's flat before, and they had nothing worth breaking the law over. Larceny didn't make since.  
  
Draco hugged his knees to his chest, rubbing the bottom of his chin, scarcely aware of the blister, a result from flying gloveless, that had developed on his thumb. He patiently went over the archives in his mind, trying to recall anything that could help him decipher this curious riddle.   
  
_"Don't play fool Malfoy! I know the girl's working for you. Her brother raided my home and from the information I've collected, there's something I need to get back from her."_   
  
"Zabini," he said aloud, recalling Blaise's words and appearance perfectly the day his former friend had called on him. His infamous, Zabini temper furthering the look of fury that distorted his defined features. The cool violet of his eyes unable to hide the cruelty and sadism that lay in the clever mind behind them. The large tan fists Blaise had curled upon Draco's desk that Draco knew had done more than perform a simple _Cruciatus_ on a few of his more attractive victims.  
  
Maybe he needed to see Ginny after all, only out of concern for her safety of course. hardly  
  
He sighed, "I need to write a response to _Mister Smith._" He crawled across his large bed, walked across the long room, and opened the dark stained double-doors of his wardrobe. "Quill and paper, Edmund. I need you to write this down." He straightened the hem of the fresh heather-gray crew neck sweater that he'd just pulled on, smoothing the loose fabric before running a hand through his short locks to remove the hair messing static. "I need to be periodically... yes, that's a good word." He smirked, changing from his stained corduroys to dark trousers. "I need to be _periodically_ informed of the situation, _but_ updated immediately on any important future developments."  
  
"Is this all, sir?" Edmund asked, his tiny blue pigeon quill scratching across his small scroll.   
  
"No, also if he ever sends that bloody bird here again, I'll have it shot and burned on sight!" he answered, sitting on his self-made bed.  
  
"Yes, sir. Did you want Edmund to send Master's response now, sir?"   
  
"No," Draco bemoaned, tying the black leather laces of his shoes into a bow. "Unfortunately, I have to re-write it. Bring it to the study and send Ginny Weasley another owl saying I need to see her right away."  
  
*~*~*  
  
Ron Weasley stood in Quality Quidditch Supplies, content in reading the unfavorable article on Malfoy's failing Quidditch team, the unfortunate Puddlemere United. His hair was still clean and wet from the warm shower he'd taken, after accompanying his best friend on a very satisfying flying practice. Ron had been hoping they, he, Harry and Hermione, could have spent the day together, maybe going over to Ginny's flat and looking over some of the evidence from her breaking and entering. But Harry had gotten an owl from the Cannon's Captain saying he was needed for their surprise practice, and Hermione had avoided him and Harry before they left and then was gone when he got home.  
  
He was just spending his time productively, flipping through the well-known Men's Quidditch Magazine, before he left for lunch with Charlie. Ron was attending the meal in an attempt to try and spend as much time with his older brother before the Dragon Handler left for Romania.  
  
"Daddy! Daddy!" The voice of the small toddler was out of place among the Quidditch literature, uniforms and trinkets, but Ron ignored it, chucking it up to an unfortunate young father who popped into the shop to escape the trials of parenthood and relive more carefree days, if only for a moment.  
  
Not looking up, he chuckled to himself, thankful he hadn't tied himself down yet. He turned the thin page revealing a shirtless Angelina Johnson. It was a tasteful picture done for the male magazine's annual _The Women of Quidditch_ issue. _'If Fred could see her now,'_ he thought gazing at the chaser's smooth bare back and silky black and streaked-gold hair.  
  
"Daddy! Daddy!" The voice became louder as the child neared. The sound was more sluggish and dreamlike than a lively youngster's voice.  
  
Ron spied over the edge of his copy of _Brooms & Beaters_, taking in the few patrons who were in. There was a young family looking at the newer models of the _Bluebottle_ in the south display window, but their obedient children seemed to be under control and the few witches sifting through the discounted individual tins of handle polish appeared to be too far in years to be anything less than Grandmothers.  
  
He looked back to his magazine, turning the page to admire an advertisement for the newest model in the _Comet_ series, the broom Harry had been gushing to him over.   
  
"Daddy."  
  
Aggravated, at the irresponsible parent who would rather listen to their child cry for them, then be considerate to the other customers and pick her or him up, Ron dramatically snapped his magazine shut, only to feel something clasp itself to his leg. Looking down he saw a mass of short orange ringlets and layers of white and blue lace.  
  
"Daddy," said the small nameless girl, in the same dreamy voice he'd heard before. She looked up at him, her blank crystal eyes making his heart stop.  
  
He had seen those eyes before. He'd seen them narrowed with pain, wide with excitement, and soulless with death. They slowly blinked up at him, threatening to open up mental wounds that had taken him years to forget.   
  
She leaned into the leg she had in her grasp, closing her ashen eyelash rimmed lids over the eyes he'd grown to know over the course of the war. He slowly bent down, trying to pull her away, but with difficulty; she was much stronger than she looked.  
  
"What's your name?" he asked, more than sure of the answer he would receive. He had seen the picture and announcement that her Mother had made in the _Prophet_ shortly after her birth.   
  
"Rose! Rose Price!" Ron heard shrieked from the shop's door. A witch of his age ran in, her gold hair flying behind her, as she appeared to search for the child between the rows of Quidditch supplies and novelties. "Have you seen a little girl?" she questioned the store's manager, Mister Conner. "She's about this tall and she has golden red hair and blue eyes. She's wearing a white dress with blue lace-"   
  
She stopped as Conner pointed in his and Ron guessed Rose's direction, as they stood next to the magazine and literature wall.   
  
"Oh Merlin!" exclaimed the young girl, placing a well manicured hand over her ample chest. "Stay right there," she ordered pointing at the child Ron was kneeling with. She nodded her head deftly, the silky blue ribbon in her hair bobbing.   
  
Ron stood, lifting her up with him as he straightened himself, and watched the young woman run from the store. The tiny magical bell barely signifying it shut, before it rang to open.  
  
"See I didn't lose her Mrs. Price," she said, walking proudly to him and the toddler, a tall figure in powder-pink robes following behind. Ron immediately identified the slender woman and her overly-decorated, overly-curled brown hair, as Pansy Parkinson-Price._ 'Price,'_ he mocked, still not fully trusting that his short-term friend had actually married the pug-nosed Slytherin.  
  
"Rose," Pansy croaked, running to him and Rose. The evidence of her panic apparent in the tears that smeared her rouge and the terrified look that he had seen from his own mother when she'd lost Ginny in Muggle London the year before he had left for Hogwarts.  
  
She snatched the girl from his arms and held her so tightly, Ron believed that she might break one of the child's ribs.  
  
"Oh Merlin," she breathed, her thin hands running through the short brassy curls. "I thought he-"  
  
"You're alright?" she asked, pulling away from the girl. "You're okay?" Again the little girl nodded before Pansy pulled her into another enthused hug.   
  
Ron watched the display of affection before him with a mixture of spite and fondness. He hadn't seen a mother's love so openly given in a long time, and the last person he had expected to see it pour so openly from was Pansy Parkinson. He turned away from the scene to the wall of magazines putting the copy he'd been reading back in its original spot before either woman or child saw him and would decide to comment on it. He gazed at the many different publications trying to train his thoughts on anything but the pang of sadness he felt when he allowed himself to think of his own Mum.  
  
"Weasley?" he heard his name behind him, and he turned to face the accusations he was positive would come from the former Ice-Queen of Hogwarts.  
  
"Thank-you," she said so sincerely he was taken aback for a moment.   
  
"Uh- you're welcome," he replied, not really knowing how. How did one reply politely to a sincere Slytherin? Did those things even exist?  
  
"She wasn't too much of a bother I hope?" she asked, rubbing under her pug-nose with an handkerchief.   
  
"Not at all," he replied, looking at the girl in her arms that reminded him of Ginny at that age. "She's really quiet you know."  
  
"Yes, I know," Pansy replied, and Ron could hear a sadness that underlined her words. "Since she wasn't much of a bother, you wouldn't if we imposed upon you one last time."  
  
Before Ron could answer her with a polite "no", she handed Rose to him, the now familiar weight clinging to his thin hip.  
  
"I suppose I can watch the midget for a moment," he called after her. She grabbed the arm of the young blonde they had come in with, and marched her across the wooden floor outside the store.   
  
"Thank-you," she answered, turning from him. Ron watched as she contorted the expression she wore of gratitude to one of fierce anger.  
  
Ron watched and listened through the store's empty display window as Pansy stepped away from the young woman with an overwhelming coldness. The enunciated profane words springing from Pansy's mouth made Ron grateful that he wasn't the person at which they were being directed. The Nanny, he presumed, was near tears, as her former employer finished her verbal assault.   
  
"You didn't have to be so harsh. She was just kid," Ron said, stepping from the shop's open door, Rose relaxing in the crook of his arm. He didn't understand why, but it felt oddly pleasant to have the silent toddler's weight on his arm.  
  
"A _kid _who nearly lost my child," she huffed. Clapping her hands, she held them out to Ron and he looked back at her with confusion till Rose climbed into her arms.  
  
"Yes, but she found her again," he defended.   
  
"Correction, she only found Rose because Rose found you," she said, matter-of-factly, and Ron was oddly reminded of Hermione. She tilted her head to look up at him, but barely as she stood at nearly Harry's height, and Harry wasn't _that_ much shorter than himself. "You have no children do you Weasley?"   
  
"None that I know of," he replied, wondering where this line of questioning was going.   
  
"Then I can't expect you to understand," she huffed, again, tilting her head so her knobby nose was lifted higher than most of the other features of her face.  
  
Ron rolled his eyes at her haughtiness.   
  
_'Once a Slytherin always a Slytherin,'_ he thought.   
  
"Well, I hate to run Parkinson. It was nice finding your only child with you and all, but I have this big case I need to work-"   
  
"The Zabini Case," she stated, a knowing edge to her voice, as she waved a carriage down at the end of the row of stores.  
  
"Yeah," he sighed, watching the one horse carriage pull up to the wooden sidewalk. "Wait how do you know about Zabini?"  
  
"I can read you idiot," she snarled.   
  
"Could have fooled me."   
  
Pansy looked thoroughly offended, and the same angry expression she wore when assaulting the Nanny narrowed on him.  
  
"I can hear and see too." She smirked.   
  
"That's nice but what might that have to do with the price of buttterbeer in Canada?" he asked.  
  
"It has to do with the fact that I know something you don't know," she smiled, her blue-eyes glittering on him as she switched Rose from one curved hip to the other.  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?" he questioned, boring quickly with Pansy's childishness.  
  
"That means," and Ron could hear from her voice she was taking a great deal of pleasure in telling him this. "Your _'Baby-Sister'_ has gotten herself into a lot of trouble working for Draco _Malfoy_."   
  
"What?!" Ron nearly screamed, gathering a few suspicious looks, from the growing number of witches and wizards who began cramming themselves into Diagon Alley. He had not meant to be so loud, but the shock of what she'd said had thrown the small amount of tact he'd had out the window.  
  
Her answer was nothing more than a smirk as she stepped forward to climb into her open carriage, but Ron put his hand on the nearby wall using his long arm to block her way.   
  
"You're wrong! You're lying!" he accused, refusing to believe her.   
  
"Bessie," she calmly addressed her female chauffeur, not letting her blue eyes wander to the driver but keeping them locked with his own. "Put Rose in the carriage will you? I need to have a moment to speak with Mister Weasley."   
  
Both he and Pansy didn't move as the driver gathered Rose and moved back to her position next to the coach.  
  
"I can assure you Weasley that your sister is _indeed_ working for Draco Malfoy. I have no reason to lie to you. I'm not benefitting from giving you this- useless to me- information, but you did find my daughter and I think that's the equivalent of a Wizard's Debt.  
  
You can do what you will with the information I gave you, but I would advise you for her health alone to get her the hell away from Draco," she finished taking a long needed breath. "I believe we're square now _Captain_ Weasley, so Good-day," she said stepping under his arm.  
  
"But-" Ron started, not really knowing what he was going to say.  
  
"I said _Good-day_, Mister Weasley," she said, her voice exposing the aggravation she felt with him.   
  
*~*~*  
  
Draco looked up from his copy of the Prophet as Edmund ran in, slamming the door shut behind him. The shiny medals on his red jacket jingled as he sprawled his arms across the door, his gnarled hands half a foot short from both edges of the red wood.  
  
"Edmund tried to stop Miss Wheezy Master, but-" he gasped, his tiny chest heaving to supply itself with much wanted air.   
  
"That's quite alright Edmund. Let her in," he said, waving his hand.   
  
"But Young Master," his house-elf pleaded.   
  
"Just let her in," Draco snapped, his patience waning.   
  
"Ah, Ginny," he greeted sarcastically, seeing her emerge from the dark threshold. "How lovely of you to storm into my Man-" Draco felt his tongue stop at the sight before him. Ginny, as usual, had not made any reasonably fashionable choices in picking the clothing she wore and her wild red hair looked as if it hadn't seen a brush since yesterday, but that wasn't why Edmund had tried to stall them or what made Draco stop in the middle of his mock greeting. Walking into his study behind Ginny was a small brunette that he recognized immediately. The tailored clothing and robes she wore were impeccable and the step she walked with, the knowledgeable haughtiness that surrounded her, made Draco's fists curl into two balls on top of his desk.   
  
"Granger?!" he asked, not attempting to hide the surprise in his voice.   
  
"Malfoy," she answered, but he was sure that she knew his outburst of disbelief wasn't in way of a greeting.   
  
He took a deep breath, barely parting his lips, as he exhaled out his rage and annoyance slowly.   
  
_'A Mudblood in Malfoy Manor!'_ he thought maddened at that fact and angry at Ginny for bringing her here. Slowly rising from his seat, he managed a weak but greeting smile.  
  
"Miss Weasley, Miss Granger. Please take a seat," he said charmingly, offering the uncomfortable seats before his desk. "And do tell what or whom I owe this spontaneous uninvited call upon too."  
  
Draco slowed his breathing as the millions of thoughts ran through his mind.   
  
_'Father would roll in his grave at the knowledge that a Mudblood stood in the same home as **his** Dark Lord once did,'_ he mused, mirthlessly.   
  
_'He'd have to actually be dead for that to happen,'_ a thought introduced.  
  
_'That is beside the point, both he and Mother would be completely scandalized if they knew,'_ he argued. _'I should toss her out.' _  
  
_'She is a part of the **Ministry**. Do you need to be any farther on their bad side? Do you need them to snoop around here anymore than they do? No you do not and moreover your parents are never going to find out.'_  
  
_'Weasley isn't sitting,'_ some other part of him observed.   
  
Draco stopped listening to his thoughts and watched as Granger took the offered seat but Ginny defiantly stood before his desk, the irrational aggravation he could see she felt for him shading her cheeks.  
  
"I will not sit down," she said, crumbling the envelope she carried in her fist.  
  
"Please, Miss Weasley do sit down," he ordered through his clenched teeth. The politeness, she was aware he didn't have, fading. "And explain to me why you're here."  
  
Ginny stared up at him, as he stood behind his desk, the colour of his tight knit sweater making the gray of his eyes noticeably darker even as he stood feet away from her. The fabric which should have been hugging the thin muscles of his body was hanging loosely from his limbs, as he offered the seat again.  
  
Slowly, she sat down in her suggested chair. The anger she had felt for him began to ebb away as she took in the features of his face, her eyes never moving from the few short strands of light-blonde that rose above the rest on the back of his head.  
  
"Since, Ginny has decided against speaking to you. I might as well," beside her, Ginny heard Hermione's voice pipe in. "She and I have come here to talk to you about the Founders Map you've acquired."  
  
"Map?" he scoffed and Ginny could hear in his voice the smooth lie, he was ready to deliver. "I haven't an idea of what you're talking about-"  
  
"She knows," Ginny said, matter-of-factly.  
  
She took a small satisfaction at watching Draco as he sat behind his desk digesting the announcement. The elegant features of his face as always impassive, and Ginny tried to imagine the conversation his mind was having—the ideas his brain was firing and calculating behind his hardened eyes. Was he thinking of mind sweeping both her and Hermione? Did he conclude that she had broken her part of the bargain and told Hermione? Would he believe her if she said she didn't? Was he going to be cross with her?  
  
"Excuse me Granger, but can I speak privately with Weasley for a moment," he said, in the polite but deadpan voice that did not offer her any insight into what he was thinking.  
  
Hermione rose from her seat, but Draco lifted his hand to stop her as he stood.  
  
"No need to get up. We will only be outside the door for a moment. Edmund!" he said. Ginny watched as his eyes moved from Edmund to Hermione and he gave the servant a knowing look. _"Don't let her touch anything!"_ She read from his grey gaze, assuming that's what his message conveyed.  
  
Ginny lifted herself from her seat and turned to the door listening to the gather and shuffle of papers from Draco's desk. She was midway across the study when she felt the long warm fingers of his hand clasp around her upper arm as he quickly moved them out the door.  
  
The cool demeanor he had held in his office replaced itself with anger as he shut the door behind them, the grip he had on her arm tightening as he pulled them closer together.  
  
"You told her!" he barked, his face rigid.   
  
Pain was beginning to spread in her arm where his fingers connected with the remains of the bruise Ron had unknowingly left her. She tried pulling her arm from his grip but was unsuccessful in her feeble attempt.  
  
"I did not," Ginny argued, offended by his accusation.  
  
"Then explain to me how she knows," he ordered.   
  
"I don't know, Draco," Ginny answered honestly. She still wasn't positive how Hermione had figured it all out. "I suppose, she broke through your stupid Memory Charm. She overheard me talking to Colin-"  
  
"You told that insipid Poof!" he yelled, shaking her arm and causing another small wave of pain.  
  
"Don't call him that!" she yelled back, angered at his degrading comment of her best friend and his hypocrisy. "And don't act so innocent, Draco. You can't stand here and tell me you haven't told Pansy."  
  
He looked down at her; his face was so close to her own she could see the individual ash hairs of his eyebrows, the different shades of gray in his eyes and the distinct lines in his chapped lips. She could smell an unusual detail in his customary fragrance a whiff of sweet grass. But the anger she felt wafting from him didn't let her dwell on his scent as it provoked the small tints of yellow on the apple of his cheek, where her brother's fist had landed, to stain a light pink. Something briefly glimmered over his face and his eyes narrowed on her before she felt him let go and push her away. He was silent when he looked at her, his eyes clouded, then at the pale hand that had been holding her close to him.  
  
He sighed, putting his hand down by his side, before answering her.  
  
"I can tell whoever I please, Weasley, and that includes _Pansy Parkinson-Price_," he said, his voice dull.   
  
Ginny listened to the way he voiced his former admirer's last names and she momentarily wondered if he was angry with Pansy for marrying another man. The suggestion made her briefly reexamine his intentions for all they had worked for. Maybe their map, their quest, had nothing to do with his mother. Maybe it was just a scheme of his to bring him and his lover closer together. Maybe he had only kissed her on the veranda to make Pansy jealous. The thoughts ran quickly through Ginny's mind, and she suddenly felt weak and queasy.  
  
"You're not going to be sick are you?" he asked, looking down at her, and Ginny thought she caught something more than contempt in his eyes. "I only ask because these rugs are very expensive."  
  
"She's the one that you're going on holiday with," she said, ignoring him and rubbing her arm where she was sure another bruise would appear among her freckles. "Where were you two going again?" she asked fumbling with the envelope she had received at breakfast and pulling the letter from it. "Oh yes, America," she read. "Dare I ask what dealings you might have in the States?"  
  
"Weasley, since when do I need to ask for your permission, to take leave of my own time or report to you of my comings and goings?"  
  
"Well, it's just a common courtesy to inform your partner-"  
  
"Partner?" he scoffed, cutting her off. "Since when are you and I partners?  
  
"I just assumed-" Ginny started, trying not to believe these words were coming from the same man who had kissed her so gently before.  
  
"You're quite large on _assuming_ things aren't you Weasley? But do not delude yourself into believing that you and I are equals on _this_ little project," he drawled.   
  
"Then I can safely_ assume_ that you and_ Parkinson_ are," Ginny accused, feeling a wave of jealous rise in her.   
  
"Are what?" he asked, obviously confused.   
  
"Are equals? I mean she was on your arm yesterday evening so I assume she knows of your little venture, and I assume that you hold her as your equal. Your _pure-blue-blooded_ Muggle-hating-disgusting-equal and I the-lowly little Muggle-loving filthy-underling that works under you."  
  
"Do not imagine you have the authority to tell me what I hold Weasley, because as far as I've heard I haven't said or thought any of what you've just spoken aloud. And exactly when was Pansy brought into this argument? What does she have to do with me taking leave?"  
  
"You escorted her to the ball."  
  
"True," he admitted. His tone telling her he didn't see the relevance.  
  
"You left with her."  
  
"I do not deny it."  
  
"But we-you and I-us-the terrace-you-" she stumbled across her words, trying to find the right phrase for what they had been doing, but all she accomplished was a burning feeling racing its way to her face catalyzed by her embarrassment.  
  
"Attacked me?" he offered.  
  
"Yes." She sighed, happy at his ability to word the situation better than she, but astonished that he was for once taking responsibility for his own actions.  
  
"I know. I have explored my own feelings on the incident and have overcome my shock, and I'm more than ready and willing to offer you my forgiveness and put it behind us. But only if your apology comes from the heart."  
  
Ginny was in such a state of surprise at his bold and ludicrous statement she almost forgot to be angry.  
  
"Pardon me Draco, but that's not how I remember-"  
  
"And I suppose you wouldn't," he sighed in a mock pity, throwing the day's morning copy of _The Prophet _to her. She looked over the black and white headline, the picture, and the article that matched the ones she had read from Colin's first press this morning. "By the way great picture, nice scowl you have there, show's off your dimples _really_ well. But that's not the point. What your brothers did to all those unknowing participants, though _almost_ genius on their part, was very underhanded. I suspect there will be quite a back-lash. But that's not what we were discussing either was it? No. Now, if I recall you did drink at least three goblets yesterday evening, not including the one Finnegan poured down your front, so I can see you couldn't have possibly been responsible for your actions. I'm assuming _Lust_ was the sin of your choice or was it _Greed_... because you surely seemed to want a whole lot of me."  
  
_'How can one person be so arrogantly charming,'_ she thought looking at his equally smug and dashing smirk. _'You've known others who were more charming, more dashing, more beautiful, more arrogant, more malicious, more conniving than he, and you know where that led you,'_ a wise thought offered to her. She unknowingly narrowed her eyes at memories that hadn't involved the man before her, but she poised her body to strike at him hard, anyway.  
  
"Colin was right, you're still a _bastard_!" she spit through her teeth, using an insult that had hurt other men in her life.  
  
Something crossed the silver of his eyes, but he recovered within the second and smirked.   
  
"Now, Weasley I was just having a spot of fun with you, but since you have again reminded me that you have absolutely no sense of humour, I should explain to you my true opinions on the matter: I believe both you, I, and many other partygoers fell victim to your mischievous older brothers and their_ "Mystery-Punch"_ or _"Seven-Sins Swig"_ as they've decided to mark it."  
  
He sighed leaning against a small stretch of bare stone wall between two of the nosy paintings before he continued.  
  
"Neither of us should be held responsible for the happenings between us. We were not ourselves mainly due to the dangerous combination of circumstance and chemical reactions tolled on our minds and bodies. We were driven by things that impaired our judgment and loosened our inhibitions. Neither you nor I meant it to happen and I think we're both mature enough to get beyond it. Don't you agree?"  
  
Ginny studied him, his jaw, his mouth, his chin, searching for any sign of what she had been feeling or what she had seen deep in his eyes the moment before he kissed her but there was nothing, just a curtain of tangled silver and gray. She answered him slowly, "Yes. Yes, I suppose you're right. We are at an age where it will be simple enough to get past this. Our mission is much more important than some stupid little snogging session which might I say wasn't that good anyway-"  
  
"I beg your pardon, but I'll have you know I'm very good at-." he broke in, baffled at her sly insult.  
  
"And how would you know?" she interrupted, a playful note to her tone.  
  
"I just know," he said confidently.   
  
"Been snogging the mirror again, have you?" she asked.  
  
"Oh, shut-it Weasley and get inside," he ordered, his hand on the doorknob ready to open it.  
  
"She knows doesn't she?" she asked.  
  
"Pansy you mean." Ginny nodded.   
  
"She knows about the map yes, but nothing else," he walked around her ready to walk into his study.   
  
"Why?" Ginny asked, turning with him, but not moving forward. "I thought this was a mum's the word type mission."  
  
"Do you remember me telling you of that Egyptian friend of mine? Well...Pansy happens to be that Egyptian friend."  
  
"Parkinson isn't exactly an exotic last name, and she doesn't look Egyptian to me," Ginny said laying her doubts out to him with the clip of her voice.  
  
"Well I guess she wouldn't would she. She only has one-sixteenth Egyptian blood in her that she inherited from her mother side.  
  
"Oh," Ginny said, feeling an unexpected and unnecessary relief. She unconsciously stepped forward and into him easily fitting between him and the door he was beginning to open.  
  
He looked down at her curiously, letting the large doorknob support his weight.   
  
"What does it matter if I brought her into this? You have Granger sitting in my study. I'd love to hear exactly why you didn't just Memory Charm her and send her on her way," he said, tapping the band of his ring against the metallic knob, tilting his head into her.  
  
Ginny could feel her body tensing at Draco's invasion of her personal space, and to her self-loathing, it was a good tensing.  
  
"Because she's my friend, and it wouldn't do any good," Ginny mumbled, remembering what Hermione had told her that morning.  
  
"What does that me-" Draco's words were cut off by a screechy voice announcing its owner's arrival before she rounded the corner.  
  
"Your door-elf said you would be in your office," the shrill sound of Pansy sounded down the hall. She stopped in the middle of a long stride, her dark pin-curls bouncing forward over the apples of her cheeks, a smug smile distorting her already unattractive features. "Am I interrupting something?" she asked, her blue gaze moving from Ginny to Draco.  
  
"Yes," Ginny said, surprised that Draco had said it with her.  
  
"Good," she replied, as if Ginny and Draco hadn't made clear their irritation at being disturbed. "It wasn't that important."  
  
Draco took a step back from Ginny and she was alarmed that her body missed the feel of his warmth beside her. He leaned sideways against the door's thick frame, and Ginny wondered if he could ever stand erect for more than a few moments before reclining onto something.   
  
"I was looking over this book you gave me last week-" Pansy read, ignoring the fact that Draco was overlooking her. She held the book up and Ginny broke the eye contact she was having with him to look at it.   
  
"I didn't give you a book," Draco argued, looking at her with suspicion in his eyes.   
  
"Fine, I took it," she sighed. "I was looking over it this morning and my mother's family-when they were alive-knew the area well-"  
  
"Get to the point, Pansy."   
  
"You're going to need an Auror's clearance just to get into the vicinity near the tomb you want."  
  
"Great! Where in the bloody hell am I supposed to get one of those?"  
  
Ginny lifted her index finger to get Draco's attention, "I have an idea."   
  
To be continued...  
  
** A/N:** Well that was Chapter 10. I hope you enjoyed it, if not that's okay too. Don't worry about Draco and Ginny, there will be happier times in the next chapter. Ron and Pansy may have seemed out-of-character in this chapter but there is both a reason for it and they will be returning to their tactless selves. Any other questions just write them down in the review, I hope I'll have an answer for them.  
  
I should thank the HP: Lexicon for information on Brooms and other Quidditch Novelties.   
  
Thanks to-  
  
Danielle- Thanks as always for the review, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter too. I know it didn't have any D/G goodness that you've spoke of, but I promise to deliver soon.   
  
letylyf- Surprisingly, Ginny may not make it out alive. Your just going to have to read it through. *wink* Diagon Alley Man- the perpetrator? Maybe. Anyway, I'm glad you're enjoying the story and I didn't think your review was at all pessimistic, I really enjoyed it. Sorry I capitalized the name.   
  
Lorraine 7- I'm happy you like it. Unfortunately no, Colin doesn't hold a flame for Ginny. They are strictly platonic.   
  
Mrs Alfred- I hope you liked this one- thanks for the review.   
  
Katrina- Thanks so much for the review, I'm glad you like how the story's going. I can't wait to read more from you either.   
  
AnniBug- Thanks for the review-(giggles) To answer your question, No, the trio aren't dating (all or coupled) You'd be surprised how often I got this question. (smiles) Don't worry the Ginny/Harry uncomfortable factor WILL come back up.   
  
infiltrate the enemy fat kid- (great name by the way) Sorry, I couldn't have the chapter out sooner, but I'll try extra hard to get this next one out. Thanks for the review.   
  
-who all reviewed.   



	11. Chapter X1: Breathe

For my beta Tegan because she ROCKS!   
  
  
Chapter 11: Breathe  
  
Draco's options were limited and offered nothing that would truly help his mother. Should he use the male-Weasley or scrap the idea and work harder with his Mother's Mediwitches? Each choice was as bad as the other, and so his decision swayed from day to day, hour to hour. He felt it wasn't fair to him. No one else was burdened with such taxing choices, so why should he be left to make such impossible decisions.   
  
He couldn't choose to side with Weasley. How could she have expected him to agree to let her brother, _Ronald Weasley,_ one-third of his eternal bane, know about their _project_, much less help them with it? Did she not know him at all? Did she not know her own brother? Weasley and Potter would have him thrown into Azkaban before she would have even finished the favor. In Draco's mind the only punishment worse than serving a prison sentence, on a tiny little island in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by soul sucking monsters would be to force him to work beside the speckle faced git.   
  
Was the bint completely mad? Probably.   
  
With his undecided path weighing heavily on his mind, Draco settled himself into the small uncomfortable chair that sat opposite the one person he'd ever sought guidance from, his father.   
  
"Nice set," Draco commented, taking in the new and quite expensive looking chess set.   
  
"Be more specific when you speak, Draco, or people may misread you," Lucius reprimanded. "Now, is it the set we are playing or the chess set we are playing with."   
  
Draco bit hard into the slick skin inside his cheek, looking down at his pieces, and willing his face not to blush. He was a twenty-one year-old man and hated that his deranged father could still shame him into submission.   
  
"You have acquired yourself a very nice chess set, Father. Whoever would bring you such a gift?" he asked, moving his only remaining pawn up a single square.   
  
"Yes, it is nice isn't it," he answered, lazily dragging his bishop over the board to capture Draco's immobile piece. "That so called guard… Michael isn't it?" Draco nodded. "Is quite the simpleton, really. And simpletons are always easily persuaded. I've told you this before."  
  
"I remember," Draco replied honestly, his mind throwing back to one of the many times his father had heaped his wisdom onto him. He could remember being so thrilled to have one of the most influential wizards of the day, his father's attention focused solely on him.  
  
"That's not all he has brought me," he continued, ignoring his son. "Lift my mattress Draco. There's something beneath it that I think you will find quite interesting."   
  
Draco did as his father told him and rose from his chair quickly walking the two strides to his father's small cot. He lifted the light mattress, if one could even call it that, to find a gray Ginny Weasley and a hoard of other Weasleys staring back up at him. It was the week-old copy of the _Daily Prophet_ that had covered the masquerade ball, but what was his father doing with it? He picked it up from its hiding space and brought it back over to the game.   
  
"I also get the paper in the morning," he said, gently placing it face up on the heads of their pieces.   
  
"I wouldn't expect anything less Draco. It's important to keep up with worldly events."   
  
"Worldly events?" Draco scoffed, momentarily forgetting who he was speaking to, "Are you and I reading the same newspaper? That," he looked at the newspaper with disdain, "is nothing more than journalistic trash. I'd get more from a _Teen Witch Weekly_ than the lies I read in there-"   
  
"Hush," Lucius ordered, putting Draco back in his place with a single word.   
  
To distract himself from his anger at being treated like a child, Draco painfully curled his toes inside the leather bounds of his shoes. His father was usually a patient man, but Draco couldn't imagine unleashing his own temper on to him, so he sat silently curling and uncurling his toes as his father continued.  
  
"Journalistic trash? Lies, you say?" he asked and his son nodded. "Then read it to me Draco, starting with, let me paraphrase," he said waving his hand in the air, _"The incident that launched the party's disastrous fate..."_   
  
Draco felt something rise in his throat as he plucked the newspaper back up. What was his father getting at? He unfolded the paper, briefly glancing at the photo of Ginny. Her bitten lips making him smirk behind it. He had been the one to make her mouth so swollen but he didn't have time to think about what they had done as he began reading aloud: _"The incident that launched the party's disastrous fate was the violent confrontation between Draco Malfoy, sole heir of the Malfoy family fortune, and Ronald Weasley, Auror and decorated war veteran."   
  
"Disastrous fate,_ Draco?" Lucius interrupted.   
  
Draco read steadfast as he felt his father's indifferent gaze studying him, _"Mr. Malfoy was dancing with his beautiful young partner when an unprovoked Mr. Weasley attacked him. Mr. Malfoy, being obviously more mature, did not strike back. The childish squabble was ended when Mr. Weasley was restrained by his fellow partygoer and long time best friend, Harry Potter. What invoked the violent outburst? Envy? Jealously? Apparently not. Mr. Malfoy's dance partner was identified as Virginia Weasley, the youngest and only sister of the famous Weasley brothers-"_ Lucius lifted his hand to signal Draco to stop, "I've heard my fill Draco."   
  
Not knowing how to reply, Draco sat silent in his seat before folding the paper in three and laying it atop the chess pieces again.   
  
"At twenty-one years my son has seen to it to publicly humiliate himself. Now what am I to say to that?" Lucius asked, accenting his question with a single lifted brow.  
  
_Yes, cause I was never embarrassed when you and Arthur Weasley scuffled,_ he sarcastically thought, remembering his father's violent encounter with the eldest Weasley.   
  
"I was attacked," Draco retorted. "And I did as you said. I didn't retaliate...what does it matter anyhow he's just a Weasley."  
  
"Just a Weasley? It seems as if that _girl_ was a bit more than _'just a Weasley.'_"  
  
Draco always refused to entertain the fear he had that his father could read minds, but now he felt himself trying to build a wall around his thoughts, including his panic. "We were just dancing, exchanging information, nothing more."  
  
"From this picture," he replied lightly tapping the edge of the newspaper. "She's grown into quite the young woman hasn't she?"   
  
"If you're attracted to that sort."   
  
"Are you?"   
  
Without needing to think, Draco delivered the answer he knew was expected of him, "Absolutely not. Besides even if I was-which I can assure you I'm not- what would a Weasley want with a Malfoy?"  
  
"The Malfoys are attractive people, Draco. There's no denying that we have good breeding. You also can not deny the fact that you've exploited this on many an occasion-"  
  
"Sorry, Father but my time here is short and valuable. Could we please suspend the lessons and the theatrics?"  
  
Draco regretted his statement as he saw the completely impassive expression his father wore. His long body was in complete relaxation, as he studied every visible inch of Draco, tactlessly, skimming from the style Draco wore his hair to the center of his chest where the black buttons of his shirt lay before coming back and forcing Draco to look him squarely in his eyes.  
  
"Since when did my son, my _heir_, develop such an _embarrassingly excess disrespect_ and forget himself. Maybe I should worry about this Miss Weasley."   
  
Draco could feel his jaw twitching and feared the leather laces of his shoes might break from the pressure of him curling his toes. What was Father's sudden obsession with linking him to Ginny?  
  
"Whatever your plans may be for that girl, I suggest you bin them, Draco. She has much better uses than your bed."   
  
"And the Male-Weasley? What might my uses be for him?"   
  
Pushing his long frosty locks behind his white shoulders, Lucius's thin lips parted in a smile that Draco hadn't seen from his father since he had been free. It was smile a man wore when he was completely in control of a situation, a smile of smugness.   
  
"If I'm not mistaken isn't it Auror Weasley?"   
  
"Well, that is how that idiot Ministry insists on identifying him." Draco replied, correctly anticipating that his father would ignore his answer.  
  
"On your last visit you spoke of traveling to Luxor and Thebes with Miss Parkinson in tow, did you not?" Lucius asked.   
  
"Yes, sir."   
  
"I think we've established that you read the paper, Draco. So why did you find it necessary to sabotage a very key point in your plotting?"   
  
Draco looked at his father; gray eyes so much like his own, stared back stoically. What was the man talking about? How had he sabotaged a key point? And what did Weasley have to do with any of it?  
  
"Sorry, Father but I'm not following," he admitted.   
  
"It's quite obvious to me now that my son's only been reading the Agony Hag column or he would've been aware that at the moment Egypt's wizard and witches happen to be under our Ministry's Law," he answered, in the same excited voice Draco had heard him use before right before...   
  
Fearing the oncoming seizure of hysteria from his father, Draco felt the bricks of his mental wall split and a sting of sympathy for the man that sat across from him seep through. He had seen him suffer it before, the markings of recovery and then the sudden relapse into a psychosis and it wasn't something Draco desired or intended to relive. So when he spoke his voice was soft, "I don't understand, how's that even possible?"  
  
"Must I simplify everything with you," Lucius snapped, before giving into an exaggerated sigh, that let Draco know that his father was indeed not regressing. "After your visit to Cairo last month, Egypt found itself in quite the _little_ bind and as an act of _charity_ our Minister Fudge offered them his _assistance_-"  
  
Half-listening to his father's smooth but callous voice, Draco tried to appear interested in his explanation, but his mind was too busy searching through the files of his memory. He was hunting for the information Pansy had delivered outside his drawing-room. _"You're going to need an Auror's clearance just to get into the vicinity near the tomb you want."_ So that is what she had meant, but at that moment her knowledge had fallen on deaf ears; he'd been too preoccupied with Ginny's naive suggestion to really give Pansy any thought and now sitting in a cell, being berated like a child by his father, he truly regretted it.  
  
"-to move around freely you must be escorted by an Auror and Mister Weasley happens to be the only Auror you have on the table at the moment."   
  
At the inconceivable truth of his Father and Ginny giving the same advice, Draco snorted.   
  
"Don't snicker Draco," his father chastised. "It's quite unbecoming,"   
  
"Sorry," Draco replied, trying to control his irrational mirth and conceal his doubt. "But I need to know exactly how I have Weasley on the table?"   
  
Lucius merely reclined into the back of his chair, wearing the same smile from before, and examining the clean nails on the end of his long pale fingers, "Just one of Miss Weasley's many uses," he drawled.   
  
"Well of course she would attempt to persuade her brother at my request," Draco lied, Ginny had never done anything he'd asked. "But I assure you, if it involves a Malfoy, Weasley won't listen to reason."   
  
"And why should he? If our situations happened to be reversed- and I wish they were-I wouldn't reason with him. So, why would he be willing to help me? If I'm not wrong his loathing for me is only matched by mine for him."   
  
"You have brought a good point. Have you not thought of offering him something?" Lucius directed; it was less of an inquiry or suggestion than it was an order.  
  
"He's a Weasley, Father. You of all know they are not so easily bought with Galleons and trinkets."   
  
"Everyone has a Price, Draco."   
  
"Not Weasleys," Draco said, looking down at the board that lay between them. He was not going to fight his father or anyone on this matter; his decision was made. Weasley was out and if it took hours of research he'd discover how to discard Granger too.  
  
"Listen to me boy," Lucius snapped, his voice barely raised but Draco could hear the clip in his tone, "Every man has a price but not every price is paid in gold."  
  
Unable to look him directly in the eye, Draco honed in on the minuscule white scar his father carried above his eyebrow. He detected something changing in the air around them, a coldness that lead in a shift of power. He could feel his options decreasing, his decisions being made for him.  
  
When he answered, his voice was emotionless, hiding the defeat he felt, "I'll meet with him."  
  
"And you will be polite."   
  
Draco felt his eyes widen with horror at the preposterous idea.   
  
"To all of them, even Potter, if you have to."   
  
"But-" Draco started, he had to stop this before his father got out of hand.   
  
"But nothing boy. You will do as I say. Those people will not be on the receiving end of your contempt. We've worked entirely too hard to have your childish animosity destroy it. Do we have an understanding?"   
  
"Yes, Father," Draco answered, feeling a mixture of anger and betrayal coursing through him. How was he to be kind to people who made his years at Hogwarts hell? How was he to get along with two boys and a jumped-up Mudblood who had caged his Father inside these four white walls?   
  
With his overwhelming frustration smothering him and distorting his senses, Draco suddenly felt entirely too warm. The walls of his father's cell seemed to be closing in on each other and the air seemed too stale to breathe, which in itself was becoming difficult to him. "I have to go," he said, pushing back his chair away from the table and standing.  
  
Oxygen didn't return to his lungs until the gray stones that made-up his father's cell door, were firmly in place. Imperceptible to the old guard who led him out were the small gasps that left his lips, as he trailed behind the oblivious watchman.  
  
His normal temperament was slowly sinking into him as he furthered himself from his father and stepped into the front-desk's line to retrieve his wand. How could his father have such insane thoughts? Yes, the man was mad and that alone grieved Draco more than he would ever admit, but how could he expect his son to be so nonchalant about something so ridiculous? Did he know the sort of danger Draco would be putting himself in if he was to ask that daft prat for help? Did he even care? Draco pushed his questions to the back of his mind, filing them into another cabinet to examine later. He'd have to wait until later, when he had time to think, time to plan.   
  
Crossing his arms over his chest, Draco took notice that his line, unlike the others, was not moving. _It was an infirmary. What could be taking so bloody long?_ he asked himself. Shifting his weight to the side, he could see to the front of the line. Outside the small caged window stood the slender figure of a man, his shoulders back and his shiny black hair falling into his face as he growled at the receptionist in a voice that he couldn't quite recognize. Draco settled himself back into his place in line, abandoning thoughts of jumping into a parallel line. He needed his wand and he could only rescue it from the witch or wizard he had been forced to give it to.  
  
He was tapping his heavy toe on the floor when he identified the silky voice that had eluded him before. The sound made the hair on his neck standup and the blood in his veins run hot. Looking up, Draco met the owner of the snappish tone and their eyes locked for a moment gray on black, one with childish uncertainty and the other with no emotion at all.  
  
Draco sighed with defeat. How could his day get any worse?   
  
*~*~*   
  
The denim material of Ginny's jeans easily slid across the red-leather upholstery as she slumped down next to the window in their booth. She let her eyes wander across the faces of the witches and wizards as they zoomed passed the restaurant she sat in with Hermione and Harry. They were waiting for Ron to arrive. Surprisingly, her older brother had been quite the no-show the past week, not even bothering to attend their father's weekly brunch.   
  
"I'll take a pumpkin juice," she answered the waitress, not looking over at the menu.   
  
"Sorry, we only serve that with breakfast," the waitress replied.   
  
"Then I'll take a butterbeer." I placed a space between this line and the previous.  
  
"All out," she replied and Ginny heard a snap of aggravation in her tone.   
  
"Fine, whatever you have is fine with me," Ginny snapped back, surprising both Harry and Hermione.   
  
She watched over Harry's shoulder as Pansy walked into the foyer of the restaurant, Draco closely tailing behind her. Per usual his hair was neatly combed back, his clothes were impeccable, and his manner was both equal parts charm and snobbery as the owner greeted both him and Pansy, but something about him seemed amiss and Ginny couldn't put her finger on it.   
  
His eyes were skimming the tables of the restaurant, searching for something or someone but Draco gave her no hint of what or who. She was becoming curious to who it might be? A man or was it, with a touch of jealously that she would never confess to, a woman. But their hunts ended when his gaze shifted to the booths and locked with her own. She instantly smiled at him, feeling stupid when he didn't return it. Instead, his eyes darted to the entrance. Ginny squinted back at him, letting him know of her confusion. He rolled his eyes in reply, then nodded his head in the direction his eyes had moved. Getting his message, Ginny nodded her head.   
  
"I need to visit the loo," she said, looking at Hermione, who was blocking her way out of the booth.   
  
"But we haven't finished talking," Hermione said.   
  
"Hermione, please," she whined, hopping up and down in the seat as far as their table would allow.   
  
"Fine, but make it quick. Ron will be here soon," Hermione explained, as she scooted out of the booth, letting Ginny slide out.   
  
Ginny immediately regretted not grabbing her suede coat as she stepped out of the restaurant and into the cold street. Draco was standing right outside the door, his silver hair being the only thing distinguishing him from the black wall of the building.   
  
"Draco?" she asked, her breath coming out in a grey puff. She stepped closer, hoping to see him better but Draco pushed himself off the wall, grabbing her by the waist and marching her quickly around the corner of the building.   
  
"You really have a thing for alleys don't ya'," Ginny said playfully, but the familiar shiver her body suffered from Draco's hand moving from one side of her back to the other as he turned her around stilled her sarcasm.   
  
He let it rest on the curve of her hip as he started, "I'm ready to talk...to meet with your brother I mean."   
  
"What? When did you change your mind?"   
  
"That's not important. But what is, is that I _will_ meet with him... on mutual grounds of course... but I _will_ talk to him."   
  
Ginny couldn't describe it, but the turmoil she'd felt from him in the restaurant was rippling off of him now. His demeanor hadn't changed, and neither had his appearance, except for his eyes, which she could barely make out in the dim light of the faraway street lamp. They weren't their ordinary gray, like the ice of a lake after a first winter freeze. They were a little darker, a little angrier as if he wasn't-   
  
The feel of Draco's thumb sliding off the belt of her jeans to the naked skin under the tail of her shirt paused all of Ginny's rational thoughts. The warm pad of his thumb was roughly tracing different shapes on her side, holding her in place.   
  
"Draco, what's wrong?" she asked, tilting her head up to get a better look at him.   
  
"Nothing," he responded too quickly.   
  
The sound of his voice, the speed in which he answered, and the increased force of his thumb against her sides, urged Ginny to foolishly probe a bit farther.   
  
"Did something happen today? Was it your mother?" she asked.   
  
"Mother's fine, Ginny," he replied. He leaned into her, forcing Ginny to step back as far as the building's wall would let her.  
  
"You and Pansy have a fight?" she questioned, trying to focus on something negative and not Draco's warm hand on her hip.  
  
"No," he hissed. "Just drop it."   
  
She should have been frightened from the tone he used. She should have stopped pushing him into talking, but Draco had never successfully intimidated Ginny and she couldn't stop herself from needing to know more. Something was bothering Draco, and she craved to know what brought about his loss of control. Taking a deep breath, Ginny put her hand on top of the one that rested on her hip in hopes to feel something from him, but only gained a look of shock and bewilderment from him. Concentrating on her task, on him, she slid her hand up his forearm feeling nothing but the fine blonde hairs that lay flat against his skin. She could feel his eyes following her and she closed her own reaching up to his face, cupping his cheek in her hand. She'd never imagined his face would be so soft but she wasn't testing the texture of his skin, she was sensing for his struggle. She wanted to see his anxieties, to _feel_ them, but nothing came to her. Whatever had happened that day was going to stay locked within him, unless he was willing to let her know, and Draco Malfoy wasn't a man for sharing.  
  
Ginny opened her eyes to find Draco looking down on her; his single raised eyebrow exposing his bafflement. "What're you doing, Weasley?"  
  
She felt heat flooding to her cheeks as she became overly aware of the position they stood in: Her palm against his cheek, his fingers brushing the curve of her hips. She giggled out her embarrassment. Lowering her hand down his face, she let her fingertips feel the slight dip of his cheekbone, the smooth outline of his jaw, only stopping her exploration when she reached the smooth curve of his neck and shoulder. Her fingers ran off his warm skin to touch the velvety material of the new cloak he wore.   
  
"Weasley?" she heard him ask again, but his voice was hoarse and gravelly. From his tone something in the atmosphere was shifting between them, and she could feel it. It wasn't something she could identify or give a name, but she knew she equally longed and feared it.   
  
"It was Edmund wasn't it," she lied, trying to break the tension she felt growing between them with a bit of humor. Looking up from the silver snake fasten he wore to his eyes, she smiled. "He's finally overcome your abusive ways and left you. Now you must learn to care for yourself. I weep for you."   
  
"What?" he asked, titling his head. His confusion lowered his guard and momentarily exposed him as the man she'd embarrassingly clung to at her brothers' ball.  
  
"Nothing," Ginny mumbled, giving into the lingering need her body felt since he'd pulled her into the alley. She moved to the tiptoes of her trainers, but her lips barely brushed his as she tried to pull him to her level.   
  
Surprisingly, he leaned his head away from her and for an instant Ginny felt cold and embarrassed, but his eyes sparkled as his hand left her waist to grab her fingers from his cloak. He held her hands by the palms before her, as his mouth moved down on hers and Ginny could feel a slight difference in his technique. On the balcony, he had been surprising and gentle, but now his kiss was directed and needing. She felt a tremor ripple over her as he deepened his kiss, his mouth demanding access, and parting her lips she granted it to him. She loved the way he tasted, the sweet spice of cinnamon, and she briefly wondered if it was from the alcohol or the sweets he chose that gave him his signature flavour. Unlike other sweets she'd sampled he never tasted the way he smelled. He smelled different; he smelled of things she couldn't name, of spices and herbs and perfumes that she'd never seen or felt or smelled till they combined onto his skin.   
  
The majority of her body began to warm from his contact, but her hands were still painfully cold against his and he refused to free them, to let her touch him, the way he could touch her. He didn't yield to her unspoken wishes as he pinned her hands on either side of her head, the rough siding painfully imbedding a pattern against the thin skin, knuckles, and veins that were the backs of her hands but Ginny couldn't feel it nor did she care to. She was too focused on trying to get a grip on his illusive hands, to feel more than just his palms crossed with hers, to feel the warmth of his long fingers slide between her own. She wanted to make him give her the warmth she craved, but instead he let go, moving his arms behind her, arching her back into him.   
  
Ginny felt something rising in her, some sound daring to escape from her throat when his body pinned hers to the side of the building, their bodies touching at almost every point. He moved to the curve of her neck relieving her lips and giving them both much needed air. Ginny was surprised at the gasps that escaped her mouth at his relent; the first warm breath she exhaled came out in a gray fog over them. She found her fingers curling the short locks of his hair, stirring the scent of his shampoo into the air, filling her senses and provoking the dizziness he'd caused her before. She closed her eyes savoring the occasional feel of his lips on her skin, the sound of his breathing as his warm breath caressed her neck and jaw, enjoying the feel of his teeth grazing the most sensitive parts of her throat.  
  
"I'm not doing this," she thought to herself.   
  
She opened her eyes with the unexpected feel of a thigh between her own, the foreign encounter making her stomach burn and found Draco's forehead resting on hers, his white fringe mixing with her red, his eyes shut tightly.   
  
"We can't do this, Weasley."   
Ginny smiled up, tilting her head to capture his bitten mouth in a chaste kiss.   
  
"I know. It seems every time we're alone..." she explained not caring that behind the wall they leaned against was a restaurant full of people including her brother and his best friends.  
  
"It's a distraction..._You're_ a distraction," he barked, surprising Ginny. She jumped away from him, but only butted the back of her head against the siding of the building.   
  
Closing her eyes against the pain in her skull, she reached up to massage the knot she knew was forming and groaned, "Thanks, a lot."   
  
"I didn't mean it that way or maybe I did. I don't know. I don't know anything anymore," he said, sliding away from her.   
  
Sighing at the tone of his voice, she opened her eyes finding Draco arms length away, his hands holding his cloak tightly around him. Looking at his messy hair and swollen lips, Ginny didn't want to imagine what he'd done to her. How was she expected to have a pleasant dinner with Ron, Hermione, and Harry after this?   
  
"Well... You know that Ron's in this restaurant tonight, and that he's sitting down with me and Hermione-"   
  
"-And you expect me to sit down with your lot and discuss Egypt with him, is that it?" he asked, severing the request he hoped he was wrong in predicting.  
  
"Is that not okay with you?"   
  
Letting his face drop, he narrowed his eyes at her. He'd only agreed with himself earlier that evening with the pressure and confidence of his father to even entertain the idea of her brother's help, but now was much too soon. He hadn't had time to develop a plan or a counter defense to her brother's unavoidable if blatantly predictable assault.   
  
"No," he answered, trying not to snap.   
  
"That's fine. We don't have to meet now. You two can argue another time," she said, tacking on that strange tone she seemed to reserve for him, her hand moving atop his cloak surrounding his hand with the soft fabric. "It's obvious you're upset and not ready to meet with Ron."   
  
"What about Granger? I'm surprised she's kept her trap shut this long."   
  
"Let me worry about, Hermione."   
  
He didn't answer, concentrating on the feel of her fingers through the fabric of his cloak.   
  
"I need to go back inside," she whispered, dropping her hands from his and smiling up at him. He watched her dark eyes sweep over him and oddly he didn't feel self-conscious under her brown gaze.   
  
Groaning, she swept a hand over her shirt and pants, before using her fingers like short white bristles to run through her mussed crimson hair. She didn't appear the kempt woman he'd snogged at the ball, but was just as alluring in her t-shirt and denim trousers.   
  
"By the way, I like your new cloak," she commented, pulling him from his roguish thoughts.   
  
"And I like that you're not wearing one," he said, his eyes dancing across the freshly smoothed fabric of her shirt.   
  
Ginny rolled her eyes, stepping out of the alley, when she must have noticed he wasn't following her.   
  
"You're not coming?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest. If it was out of anger or to stop signs of the obvious cold, he didn't know.  
  
"No," he replied, gathering his cloak around him, "It would be too suspicious. Besides, I need a little time to think...I'll be coming in; don't worry."   
  
Draco watched Ginny's progress into the restaurant. He could still smell her, all warmth and vanilla, as he turned in-front of the alley. His mind focusing on any distraction that didn't involve her touching him, or her not touching him, or just her in general, when he saw it, a little flash of metallic gold in the shadow of the building across from him. Draco squinted at it, thinking it might have been his imagination when he saw it again, a flicker of reflected street-lamp light. Thinking it might be a camera and a picture of him and Ginny circulating to his father being the last thing Draco needed, he crossed the empty street in a hurry but heard the loud pop of Apparition before he could confront the shadow.  
  
Draco shook off the odd feeling that crawled through him, quickly crossing the street and moving into the safety of the restaurant. He ignored the pain that had wormed into his head as he moved down the aisle, trying to ignore the conversation Ginny was having with her brother, but their loud Weasley voices, even in the hustle and bustle of the restaurant, seemed to grip him. All he had planned was to down the drink he'd instructed Pansy to order for him, but from the tone of Weasley's voice it seemed that his plans as usual were bound to be ruined.   
  
"You lied to me Ginny," he heard Weasley accuse, "At the twins party, I asked you if anything happened between you and Malfoy and you looked me in the eye and said no. You lied to me. You lied to _your_ brother."   
  
"Sorry," she answered, surprising both him and Weasley by not sounding sincere.   
  
Weasley sighed, sitting back from the table, his light eyes thoroughly examining her, "I don't know what's gotten into you Ginny, but you'd best be glad I wasn't interrogating you?"   
  
"Why?" she asked, sarcasm leaking through her words, "Is it a crime to lie to your brother?"   
  
"When he's an Auror, it is," he replied, catching Ginny off guard, and she hesitated before replying.   
  
"Well, you weren't in uniform."   
  
"Yes, I was."   
  
"No you weren't. You were dressed up like that stupid detective Sherlock McDuff or whatever his name is?"   
  
"Shylock McGruff is not daft and don't try and change the subject Gin. It's not going to work. You're in trouble, _real trouble,_ and I'm not letting you out of it either."   
  
"Real trouble?" she laughed. "What do you really expect him to do, Ron? Have some master plan to end the world?"   
  
  
"Maybe, I don't know and neither do you. You don't know him at all. It's more likely something to do with his father or even more likely Harry."   
  
"Oh, yes because everything revolves around Harry Potter doesn't it," she whispered fiercely leaning over the table.   
  
"Look here, Virginia Ann Weasley stop trying to change the subject. My point is-"   
  
  
"What _is_ your point, Ron? Please, I would love you to explain it to me," she said, nodding her head to the side.   
  
Weasley paused, seemingly to compose himself and let his face drain of the unnatural plum shade that connected his freckles. Ginny was certainly testing her bounds by provoking her brother and Draco could see him desperately gnawing onto the bridle of his short Weasley-patience.   
  
"When Malfoy's _own_ girlfriend tells me to get my sister away from him for her health-"   
  
"Draco doesn't have a girlfriend," she interrupted, slamming down the drink that she'd picked up and splashing purple liquid onto the checkered tablecloth.   
  
"Oh, so Pansy Parkinson's just a _really_ good friend."  
Draco rounded on Pansy, the anger he'd taken in all day ready to explode on her. The blue-eyes he'd always thought would have been beautiful on another, were dancing with smugness at watching Ginny squirm beneath her brother's interrogation.   
  
Turning her head she met his gaze, "What?" she asked innocently.   
  
"How's Rose?" he asked, striking Pansy on the only part of her heart he thought still worked.   
  
"Don't even," she icily replied. "I know you can't harm Rosemary and so do you."   
  
"And you can't harm Ginny," he slipped, not realizing the words had sprung from his mouth.  
  
"Whatever do you mean by that Mister Malfoy?" she asked, catching his stumble, her lips parting in the cruel grin that he'd known so well at school.   
  
Draco sneered in reply, only encouraging Pansy to continue.   
  
"What, you think you can protect her from her big brother?"  
  
Again Draco was quiet, concentrating on the booth that sat angled from their own, trying to listen to the conversation that unfolded between the girl and her brother.   
  
"First, Weasley would kill you because...well he's just bigger. Second, you can't defend yourself much less try to protect that little chit."   
  
"Shut your gob, Pansy," he warned, curling his toes. He was already angry with her. Couldn't she see that pushing him was in no way beneficial to her health?   
  
"What will you give me?" she teasingly asked, hoping the question stirred in Draco the memories she hoped he still visited.   
  
"What did you say?" he asked, looking back at her questioningly.   
  
"What will you give me?" she repeated slowly, not fully understanding Draco's reasoning. "Like, what's your price?"   
  
A look of triumph swept across his attractive features as he beamed at her, "Has anyone ever told you, you were a genius before?" Then as if remembering who he was speaking to he stood, and finished lamely, "No, I suppose not."   
  
Approaching Ginny's booth his Father's words resounded in Draco's ear, "Every man has a price but not every price is paid in gold." Of course, why hadn't he thought of it before. He most definitely had something Weasley needed, nearly as much as he himself needed that map.   
  
"Weasley and...Weasley," Draco drawled, slithering into Ginny's seat, seating himself opposite her brother and resisting the urge to wrap his arm around the girl sitting next to him just to see if her brother could actually produce smoke from his large ears. But he kept his hands to himself and his eyes trained on his opponent's, ignoring the thumb sandwiched between her teeth and the expression of shock he was confident Ginny wore.  
  
"What do you want?" Ron gritted through his teeth, and Draco could see the binds of his temper wilting.   
  
"The question is not what I want Weasley. But what /you/ need," he answered lazily, still not leaving.   
  
"I don't need nor do I want anything from you," he spit, bending over his table.   
  
"I disagree."   
  
"Disagree all you want Malfoy, the point is I want you out of my booth and out of this restaurant."   
  
"Oh I'm sorry, I had absolutely no idea you owned this restaurant. Please, forgive my rudeness, but I'm just offering you my assistance," Draco replied, his sarcasm sweeping over the redhead who sat before him.   
  
"Your assistance," Ron snorted, "Like I told you before Malfoy, I don't need anything from you, and you're mistaken if you think I do."   
  
"As you wish Weasley, but what I have is worth ten of what you would be obligated to endow."   
  
"And what is that Malfoy?"   
  
"Zabini, Weasley. I'm bringing Zabini to the table," he paused, letting his offer sink in. "I think he's worth more than a few days of your time."   
  
"Zabini?" he mirthlessly laughed, "_You_ can give me Zabini."   
  
"Yes," Draco replied, matter-of-factly. He was quickly becoming bored and annoyed at Weasley's ignorance. Why couldn't the boy just see that this was the easiest and most direct path to his goal? Draco needed his time and he needed Zabini; it was quite simple really.  
  
"I don't believe you. You're lying," the redhead accused.  
  
_Lying, they always jump to lying,_ he thought. Even if they were right most of the time, it was still insulting.  
  
"Am I?" he asked, testing Weasley's assurance. He waited for the Auror's answer and when he received none, he tried a little more coaxing. "Come now, Weasley."   
  
"I'm not doing it. I can't prove it yet, but this is a trap. I know it!"  
  
"Believe what you want, Weasley, I honestly couldn't care less, but you should know I won't bring this offer to you again. I can get what I want without you, but can _you_ do the same?"  
  
Draco lowered his eyelashes as he gazed at Ron. The former Keeper stared back at him for a moment. His blue-eyes, which further distanced his resemblance to Ginny, darted over to his sister, then back to Draco. Finally, they dropped to the table, giving Draco the illusion that his enemy was cowing, and allowing him a calmer look at Ron Weasley. The large boy didn't look much like his sister; his face was slightly squarer, his nose much longer, and his eyes were nothing like hers. But Ron's eyes jutted up again, sliding sideways, and resting at the bar where Draco was sure Granger was holding Potter on his seat.   
  
"I have to talk to Harry," he answered.   
  
"Potter?"   
  
"Do you know any other Harries?" he asked, rhetorically.   
  
"Yes, actually I do, and I see you're still this One's lap dog." He smirked.   
  
Ron narrowed his eyes at him, "I'll owl you my answer."   
  
"Very well then."   
  
Draco slid across Ginny's slick seat, carefully avoiding her. He had just swallowed a throat full of bile, that had been his pride, and couldn't bring himself to look at her. How had this woman-child forced him into this? How could Father believe that this would be the best course of action? How had he let himself become such a Pawn to these two people?   
  
_I'm not_ he told himself, in the sigh he let escape as he moved back to Pansy's table. He could feel Ginny's eyes on him, watching him as he pulled his money purse out paying his side of the bill; it wasn't much as he had only bought a single drink. Her dark gaze stayed on him as he exited the restaurant, and he only dared to look back for a moment before he walked out onto the cold street.   
  
*~*~*  
  
Blaise Zabini ripped his cloak off, throwing it across his ragged sofa, and he sneered at his degrading living conditions. His sitting room smelled of garbage from the alleyway outside; his kitchen, no bigger than two of his long strides, exposed insects skittering over the two wooden cabinets and the counter, its blue paint chipped through to the rotten wood underneath; the vinyl floors that ran through the entire house were nicked and stained with colors that he didn't want to dwell on.  
  
He was in a rage as he stalked down his short hall; he'd had Weasley and Malfoy so near, so easily within his grasp. Unfortunately, he had hesitated a moment too long and Draco must've sensed his presence, because he had broken off his kiss with Weasley and stared right into the shadow where he had been hiding. Blaise opened the first door he reached, rubbing his forearm where his mark lay hidden under the light-skin and found what he was looking for. Lying dormant in the one bed the house held, her chest rising and falling with every deep breath she took, slept his sister, Bernadette Zabini.  
  
He watched her as she slept, trying to deny the cold that had seeped through the four walls of her room. Her short dark hair was spread over her face, as her tiny body rested underneath the thick duvet he'd brought from home. She had been expected to start Beauxbatons this year, but had been denied acceptance for the public mishaps he had delved in. She had been accepted at Hogwarts, but in no way was he going to allow her to be under the crack-pot who ran that school. No, he had plans for Madam Maxime for refusing his sister; he vowed to burn the school till the flames reached the clouds, so that Bernadette could hold a carnival in its ashes.   
  
His thoughts drifted quickly back to Ginny Weasley. He should have killed her when he'd had the chance. She had been so surprised catching him in her apartment, but the surprise had been shared. He hadn't expected her home either. Had he not seen her with Draco? And Draco wasn't known for letting his conquests retire so...early.   
  
Things weren't making sense to him, and it was all because of one Ginny Weasley. Merlin how he wanted to hurt her, her and Draco.   
  
He could almost taste it, the power of the Cruciatus flowing from his body into hers. He wanted the satisfaction of watching the bitch twitch and moan and beg him to stop, but even more he could taste the power of the Curse as he forced Draco to watch helplessly. It was so close, the glorious feeling of completion at watching them both break, primarily watching Draco's surrender of his confidence and good breeding as he kneeled in his expensive trousers, begging Blaise for salvation. Why not? The bastard deserved it for running away and betraying the Dark Lord the way he had. But not now, now was not the time to let his emotions overrun his better judgment. He could only watch, that was his Master's wish, his Master's order. So he would watch, for now, content in knowing that the time would come when Ginny Weasley would get what she was due.  
  
*~*~*   
  
Sitting at the same island in his kitchen that Ginny had, Ron gratefully accepted the cold butterbeer Harry offered him. His mind was reeling at that moment with the suppressed rage he felt at his young sibling—his young, naive, daft sibling.  
"What's he looking for anyway?" Harry asked, sliding on to the smooth top of the counter.  
  
"I don't know. I didn't ask. But if he's looking in Egypt, it's probably some stupid artifact-"   
  
Ron was interrupted with the swing of the kitchen door and Hermione's answer, "A map."   
  
"A what?"   
  
"A map," she repeated, opening the refrigerator door. "Malfoy's searching for a map."   
  
"A map, huh?" Ron asked, fingering his chin.   
  
"Wait, how do you know he's looking for a map?"   
  
He watched Hermione, waiting for her reaction to his subtle accusation. He could see her dark curls flopping and her back stiffening as she stood erect. Shutting the white door and turning slowly to face them, Ron could read the guilt on her face.   
  
"Talk Hermione," he ordered.   
  
"I don't want to be interrupted, no matter what you hear Ron. Do you agree?" she began negotiating. "The only information I have is what I've learned from Ginny, and you know she's not one for being wholly honest."   
  
"Ginny?!" he yelled. "You knew she was working for that scum-bag?!"   
  
"I haven't known for very long, less than a week almost-"  
  
"So you've been walking around, keeping a secret that could potentially put my only sister in a great deal of trouble; is that it?"  
  
"Ron, calm down. Hear Hermione out," Harry ordered, from his perch on the counter.   
  
"You kept her secret from me?" he asked, trying to ignore Harry and focus his anger on Hermione, but he felt his voice soften.  
  
"Only because she asked," Hermione answered.   
  
_"'Only because she asked,'"_ he mimicked. "That's just great Hermione. You never kept me and Harry's secrets when you thought we might scrape our knee, much less die."   
  
Ron looked to his Quidditch-buddy, his confident, his best-friend for justification, but the dark haired boy was intently concentrating on the imaginary dirt that had developed on the thigh of his trousers.   
  
"It's not the same, Ron and you know it. Ginny's a grown woman, who's _usually_ responsible and mature enough to make her own decisions. You two were reckless children-"   
  
"You still told," he interrupted, looking up at her.   
  
"And I never promised you I wouldn't."   
  
The room fell quiet for a moment as the two long time friends stared at each other; the third trying to calculate which move would be the most productive, the move that would bring them closer to a truce.   
  
"Ginny's a grown woman, Ron. Something you've neglected to take into account. She's stronger than you think she is, and I thought she could handle this, dig herself out but apparently I was wrong and for that I apologize. But I won't ask for your forgiveness in keeping her secret. I owed it to her," Hermione explained, her voice lowering from the high pitch it had taken on.  
  
Confused, Ron looked back at her, as he crossed his arms over his chest, "Owed her what?"   
"Something," Hermione said, crossing her own arms.   
  
Still confused as to what Hermione was trying to get at, Ron just stared back at her.   
  
"Do you remember that oath you made Harry and me take Ron? The one that if you were captured that no one could find out; that you would rather your mum think that you were dead than to know where you were. Do you remember that?"  
  
Stunned and wounded at the question Hermione asked, Ron looked back at her sulkily. How could she even think to bring that up?   
  
"You don't know what it was like for her, Ron. For six months, six very painful months, I lied to her. Harry and I both did. We lied to her; we lied to your _mother_-"   
  
"You know what Hermione, I've heard this a hundred times. I know you were right. We all do! You told me it was a trap and now I know it was a trap. You told me I would be captured and now I know I was captured. As usual you knew it all and I now I know it all. I don't need you reminding me every time I fuckin' turn around."   
  
"I was only reminding you of where I am coming from, Ron," she replied, and even though they weren't tears of sadness but anger, Ron could see Hermione's dark eyes watering.   
  
Frustrated he stood from his stool and threw his bottle of butterbeer into the kitchen sink, gaining a small satisfaction in the mixture of glass breaking and beer fizzing against the aluminum sides.   
  
He couldn't think at the moment. His mind was blinded by his anger at Ginny for betraying him so easily, at Hermione for thinking she had the right to bring up painful memories that he alone had had to live through and at Harry just because he sat there being so quiet, so indifferent.   
  
"I'm going to bed," he said, before storming out of the kitchen and taking the stairs two at a time. He slammed his bedroom door, and for the third time that year, splintered its wooden frame, though this time it was out of anger rather than the rough housing he and Harry had done before.   
  
_Cheap door,_ he thought, throwing himself onto the bed and grabbing a bright orange pillow to calm himself.   
  
How could Ginny do this to him? How could she expect him to help Malfoy? Was she mad? A myriad of thoughts were streaming through his mind, but most of them came back to Malfoy and the smug look the pointy faced man wore as he slid into the seat with his sister. How he would love to wipe that smug look off? Watching the fear in Malfoy's eyes as he let Harry shut the iron-barred door to his own little cell in Azkaban, it would be so marvelous. But try as he might, he could never find any evidence to charge much less convict the little ferret with.  
  
Sighing, Ron turned onto his back and closed his eyes. He always thought better laying still. There was something tonight, some slip Malfoy had made. He couldn't think of it at the moment, his mind was too jumbled but it was definitely a slip. Had it been the tempting offer of Blaize Zabini? No, he'd suspected Malfoy had made contact with his old school mate, but still he had nothing concrete to charge him with. Had it been the encouragement to help him? No, Malfoy had been quite tight lipped on his little mission. Yes, that was it; it was the mission itself that had tipped the scales in his favor. With the mass of newly discovered tombs and one of a kind artifacts being stolen from the altars, Egypt was a pretty hot commodity at the moment. Bill had told him so at the Twin's Ball. One of those artifacts had to be what Malfoy was searching for. But Ron couldn't help him find it; the outcome could be horrendous, but if Ron 'caught' him with the nicked goods it would surely be enough evidence for a year's sentence on that tiny little island of death, and not only that, but he would have Zabini as well. He could have both Zabini and Malfoy. Killing two Death Eaters with one stone-  
  
Ron's thoughts were displaced by the mark of a spell hitting his door, the sound of wood cracking as it mended itself. There was silence for a few minutes as he waited for the hinges to whine as the door opened and the sound of footsteps moved into his room.   
  
"Thanks, mate," Ron said, not opening his eyes. He knew it was Harry by the shuffle of his trainers against the rug and the mood that always seemed to follow his friend.   
  
"For what?" he asked, and Ron felt a weight accompanying his own on the mattress as Harry sat at the end.   
  
"The door," he explained, opening his eyes and sitting up to face him. "I was in too much of a strop to mend it myself."   
  
He barely made out the snort Harry made in the dark. "I didn't mend your door. Hermione did. I told her not to. You're the prat who broke it; you should fix it, but you know Hermione."   
  
"Can we not talk about her now?" Ron asked, looking away from him and through the dark to the walls of his room. In the light from the hall, he could make out the few posters he'd hung up.   
  
"Look Ron, y'know I don't like getting between you two and you don't like getting between us and she doesn't-"   
  
"Let's just have it, Harry. What're you getting at?"   
  
"_'I'm getting at'_ that you should give her a break."   
  
"Yeah, you would say that," Ron huffed, his mind reminding him of something Harry had confessed in his sloth-induced stupor at the party over a week ago.   
  
"What do you mean by that?" Harry asked, moving closer to him. Ron couldn't see his eyes through the reflection of hall light on his glasses but he knew those green-eyes were trying to read him.  
  
"Nothing," Ron mumbled. "I'm just tired is all, from Ginny and Malfoy-"   
  
Again he heard Harry snort, "What are you planning to do about him?"   
  
"I'm glad you asked that Harry," Ron said, feeling a smile tugging on his lips. "Because I have this plan I think you're going to like very much."   
  
*~*~*  
  
The Ministry Library was a massive structure located separately from the busy employee-filled main office building. It consisted of many separate rooms, for the many separate subjects that needed to be investigated. And each investigation could be extensively researched with the numerous books that filled the floor to ceiling bookshelves that lined every room along with the long oak tables.  
  
As impressive and comfortable as it was, Pansy still disliked following Hermione Granger around it. Actually, she hated doing anything with Granger, but it was Draco's order to get out of his hair and accompany Granger and Weasley on their last-minute research trip. It seemed Ronald Weasley had finally come to his senses, owling Draco and telling him that he would help, but only if Harry could come too. With great grievance Draco accepted. Pansy didn't know what had pushed him to concede, but because of it, she now stood between two aisles on _The Ramifications of Mummification,_ without Weasley.   
  
Granger was unnaturally quiet as she filled her red trolley with books, not even acknowledging Pansy's existence, which unnerved her. If she was going to be stuck with the bushy haired bookworm, she might as well have her wit sharpened with some friendly or not so friendly banter.   
"I heard Weasley traded you and Potter in for one Blaise Zabini. Two for one, how do you feel about that?" Pansy asked, hoping to at least rise an answer out of her.   
  
She smiled at gaining a sigh from the dainty girl's lips. "Pansy, if you can't remember, I'll gladly remind you. I'm not Ron or Harry. I don't get baited by people like you. Besides, Ron would never trade in me and Harry. We all made the decision to do this together."  
  
Satisfied with Granger's reaction, Pansy smiled, lazily fingering the different spines of the shelved books, "I don't know Granger. People would do a lot to further their own careers and from everything I've read, Weasley's career is in a spot of trouble."  
  
"You can read?" Hermione asked, sincerely.  
  
Pansy stopped her stroking of the rough spines, to watch Granger kneel down to retrieve a book. She was trying to determine how to answer the other brunette's question, when it dawned on her that it was Granger's form of an insult.  
  
"Check out the wit on Granger," she complimented.   
  
She saw the Head girl's body stiffen as she tossed another book on top of the pile- Granger was going to ignore her, again.   
  
Resigning herself to the silence, Pansy followed sulkily behind her. She glanced up and down one of dark aisles as they passed another row of tall shelves; for a place of reading, it was awfully lit and very creepy. Pansy found herself gravitating to Granger until the short girl's bushy hair was nearly pressed to Pansy's nose.   
  
"What are we looking for anyway?" Pansy asked, causing Granger to jump from the sudden question.   
  
"I'm looking for a _book._" she answered, stepping away from Pansy. _You're_ going back to the table."  
  
_How do Potter and Weasley do it?_ Pansy asked herself, narrowing her eyes at Granger.   
  
"Are you always this defensive?" she asked, sidling up to her. Sizing Granger up, she hugged her own book to her chest.  
  
"Only when you're around," she mumbled, making a turn with her trolley and moving down the next row. "Just go back to the table, Pansy. I know my way around. I promise I won't get lost."   
  
Pansy looked around at the looming aisles; they all looked the same to her.  
  
"Yes... Well, I will," she reluctantly answered.   
  
"What did you say?" Hermione asked.  
  
Pansy exhaled loudly, "You might know your way about this place, Granger but I certainly do not. I might wonder off and never be seen again."   
  
"Yes, that would be a shame."   
  
"I'm serious, Granger," Pansy whined but the look of pity from Granger's brown eyes made her wish she hadn't opened her mouth. On the other hand, she would rather suffer Granger's sympathy than be abandoned inside this crypt of literature.  
  
Hermione sighed, "C'mon. I'll take you back to our table."  
  
Pansy followed Hermione back to their table, and they unloaded the stack of tomes together. She wasn't too interested in the books that Hermione had brought, but was engulfed in the one she'd /borrowed/ from Draco. It was uncommonly difficult to read and there were many passages she had to question Granger about.  
  
"All this is useless," she said slowly, lowering the book she was reading onto the table.  
  
"What do you mean useless?"   
  
"I mean this," she said, lifting the heavy book and turning it to face Granger, "It's written here that you're going to need one to touch any of the artifacts Draco's trying to find, and from what I see we don't have anything remotely close to this."   
  
"Is that all?" Hermione asked, not hiding her annoyance at Pansy's continual nagging.   
  
"No there was something about blood too, but I didn't read too much into that." She held the picture up to Granger, the gray blade and jewels of the beautifully illustrated page-size dagger, reflecting in the light-brown of her eyes.   
  
"I feel like I've seen this before," the brunette said, shaking her finger at it and opening a new book with her other hand.   
  
Pansy heard the double-doors behind Granger open. Looking up, she watched Weasley walk through the threshold, a thick shoulder-strap, from her giant bag, crossing her oversized green sweater.  
  
"Afternoon," she greeted, taking the awful knit-cap she wore off her head, freeing her tangles of uncombed hair.   
  
"You're late," they both shouted. Surprised, Pansy turned to her research partner who was already looking at her with an identical expression of shock.   
  
"Sorry-" the redhead started, but the rest of her apology died on the air, as she stared at the volume Pansy was holding. Her dark-eyes, which didn't hold the comeliness of her brother's color, narrowed on the book, as if her thick-lashes would help her identify the picture easier, "What's this?"   
  
Sneering, Pansy turned the book around to conceal the picture from Weasley's vision and finish the paragraph she had been reading before pointing out Draco's hitch to Granger, "Just something Draco's going to regret not having."   
  
"Oh, you're just so helpful, Pansy. I wonder why Draco didn't bring you 'round sooner," she replied sarcastically.  
  
"It's the dagger of-" she looked down at the papers, chewing on the insides of her cheek, "Hell, I can't even pronounce it."   
  
Pansy heard Granger's sigh at her incompetence, "We need it for-" She felt Granger's eyes fall on her, "Exactly, why do we need it Pansy?"   
  
"It's used in part of the ritual that I spoke about earlier, but she would have known had Weasley gotten here on time. From what I read it's very important, but even rarer. There was exactly one forged-"   
  
"So Draco needs it?" Weasley asked, simplifying it.   
  
Rolling her eyes, Pansy answered her, "Obviously you weren't using that half-brain the Gods loaned you Weasley or you would have already known the answer."   
  
"Do shut-up, Pansy. It took you twenty-minutes and a lot of different questions to get through three pages of that book."   
  
"Thank-you Hermione, but I believe I can hold my own against the _"Black-witchow"_ half-wit."   
  
Pansy inwardly cringed at the nickname Lita Gross had dubbed her in the _Daily Prophet_ after the death of her husband. She had never been a fan of the journalist, but her dislike had turned to hatred as more and more stories emerged about Pansy's ill chosen discretions after the birth of her child, giving children like Ginny Weasley an armor of insults.  
  
"Cute Weasel? Wherever did you read that from? I only ask because from a mutual associate of ours, I hear that you lack both the creativity and mind to craft something so...witty."   
  
"That's enough Pansy," Hermione scolded.   
  
"Come now, Granger. You know you've thought it before." Weasley's eyes narrowed on her and all Pansy could see were dark-cinnamon slits where her eyelashes met.   
  
"If either of you see Draco...I mean Malfoy," she took a deep breath, clutching her pink freckled forehead. "If he ever turns up... tell him I'll owl him later. I need to go."   
  
"Ginny," Hermione called, climbing out of her chair. She caught up with the petite redhead in less than a stride and turned her around by the arm. "Don't leave because Pansy's being a harpy. It's just her natural behaviour."   
  
"I'm not leaving because of her, Hermione."   
  
"Then why are you abandoning me to research with that," she asked, nodding her head at the table behind her and the abandoned Pansy who was intently eavesdropping into their conversation.   
  
"Sorry, but there's something I forgot at the office and I don't want to be tardy for my appointment anyway," she explained, trying to express her sympathy.   
  
Hermione studied Ginny for a moment with eyes of jealousy and a scowl of disappointment. Why was Ginny allowed to escape the wrath of Pansy Parkinson?   
  
"Well, promise you'll pop-back as soon as you can spare a minute. I really don't want to be left with her any longer than absolutely needed," Hermione made her vow.   
  
"I promise." The redhead smiled, capturing her unkempt hair under her colorful knit-cap, tugging it down to her dark eyebrows, before hugging Hermione goodbye.   
  
Hermione stood rooted on the dark marble stoned spot until Ginny had completely disappeared visually and audibly from her range before forcing herself to turn around and face a very smug Pansy.  
  
*~*~*   
  
Ginny's body involuntarily cringed as the weight of the Zabini Dagger hit her thigh, with each step she took down the stairs. Her mind could picture its sharp mirror blade, sliding through the other items of her purse and piercing the skin of her thigh. But what worried her more was the feel of guilt and nerve induced sweat forming on her lower back under her sweater. By putting that dagger, that cataloged evidence, in her bag she was officially stealing from the Ministry of Magic, and that was a Trouble that no one's contacts would ever be able to dig her out of.   
It had been easy enough to steal with Peter and Holly leaving early but she still couldn't calm her nerves as every co-worker's eyes seemed to be drilling holes into her. Did they know? No, of course they didn't. It would be impossible for them to know, but that fact still didn't steady the nervous giggles that frequently escaped her lips.  
  
Successfully suppressing a fit of anxious giggles, Ginny passed two bickering witches on the staircase.   
  
She was stealing from her place of employment and for what? A man who saw her as nothing more than a _distraction_. No, she wasn't doing this for him. She was doing it for a woman she'd never met but who like her late-mother was defenseless, dying, and deserved the second chance her son was fighting for.   
  
Ginny felt her conscience and her breathing settling as she rationalized her behavior. She stepped off the staircase and onto the very short hall of the Department of Magical Transportation, and found the office she was looking for. On a small gold marker in black lettering read: Portkey Division, Office of Ernie Macmillian. She softly knocked on the amply waxed door and when she didn't get a reply, she opened it. _Well,_ she reasoned, _He should have been expecting her they did have an appointment._  
  
The look of Ernie's office, like Hermione's, displayed the signs of his anal-retentive personality. Taking in his brightly color-coded files, his neatly scrolled maps, and his all around sterilely clean office, made Ginny question why the staff at Hogwarts had ever chosen Draco to rule as Head boy with Hermione. Ernie would have been the much better choice or at least he wouldn't have disagreed as much as Draco had.   
  
But Ginny's idea of Ernie's passive behavior was disturbed by the sound of a voice or, more discernible, the sound of a yell that she recognized was that of the former Hufflepuff, "What do you mean by four P-keys have been stolen?"   
  
Their was an indistinct murmuring from the fireplace he was kneeling by and then more yelling, "How do you know that the people who ordered them didn't use them?"  
  
More grumbling.   
  
"Oh...Oh! I see...I see," Ernie sighed, resting on the heels of his feet. He looked over his shoulder, almost glaring at Ginny before he turned back to the flames in his fireplace. "I'll have to get back to you, my appointment's here."   
  
  
Ernie crawled up from the floor, flopping down into his oversized chair with a sigh, "You're late," he said, lining the neatly grouped quills atop his desk.   
  
"Sorry," she apologized, sitting down in one of the two chairs in the cramped office. "Did I interrupt something? Because I can reschedule-"   
  
"No. No, it's fine. It's nothing I'm not going to have to cleanup later." he sighed, looking at his color-coded folders. "Now, what did you come to see me about?"   
  
"I need a Portkey," Ginny replied, giving him her most charming smile. She'd heard asking for favors outside of your department was always hard especially when involving travel.   
  
Ernie picked up an orange tipped quill in his chubby hand and opened a desk-drawer pulling out an orange folder. "Where to?" he asked, scribbling down on the form inside.   
  
"Thebes or more importantly Luxor. Only, if you can manage it of course?"   
  
"I can't," he replied, shutting the folder and placing his quill back in its spot. "Ministry Rules, No Portkeys into Africa 'till after the New Year."  
  
"What about an Apparation Point?" Ginny asked, confused.   
  
Ernie shook his head, calmly laying his clasped hands on his desk.  
  
"What? Why not?" she questioned, becoming angry at Ernie's uncaring behavior.   
  
Ernie grabbed his wand from its hiding space between his quills and tapped it lightly against the wall behind his desk. The maps that sat above his fireplace morphed into continents and countries until Africa slowly turned into Egypt.  
  
"Ministry Rules, have it written at the moment that this area," a red beam, shining from the point of his wand, circled all of the country, "shall not have any form of outside influence for it is under great duress at the moment. It's pretty top-secret but it seems they're having some sort of Mummy problem down there. Nothing too serious I hear."  
  
Ginny's first thoughts were of Bill before she realized that he was in Paris until March visiting with his fiancé's family. But instantly they turned to the problem at hand. She threw her head back onto the wooden headrest of her chair, regretting it as she only garnered herself a headache, "Who wrote these stupid rules?"  
  
Ernie's usually pleasant face took on a scowl as he replied stiffly, "I did."   
  
The feeling of discomfort at his words, Ginny tried her form of an apology, "Oh, well they're not really _that_ stupid."  
  
"I think our meeting's over Miss Weasley," Ernie replied, with an uncharacteristic coldness.  
  
Ginny could feel her opportunity slipping away in Ernie's tone. He had obviously taken more offense to her slip, than he should have.   
  
"Ernie," she started in a sickly sweet tone that unnerved her, "I can call you Ernie right?"   
  
At Ernie's cringe Ginny thought, _Maybe not._   
  
"Look, Ernie, I know I criticized your 'Rules' and I know my brothers haven't been quiet on keeping their opinions to themselves on the same matters. _But_ could you please make an exception just this one time, and just give us a little clearance to use a Portkey."   
  
Ginny held her breath, looking directly into Ernie's pale eyes as she waited for his answer.   
  
The round features of his face dropped from the scowl to one of regret, "No, Miss Weasely I won't but-"  
  
"But it's a life and death situation!" she shouted, standing up.  
  
  
"Sit down, Miss Weasely. If you had let me finish, I was going to say _but_ I can get you and your party onto a train that should bring you into the vicinity of Luxor, Egypt. Now, that's all I have to offer you. You can take it or leave it. The choice is yours."  
  
"I'll take it," Ginny breathed. She would worry later about what Draco was thinking, but at the moment she was just happy to have their travel finalized.  
  
*~*~*  
  
It was an odd feeling having the silent paintings of the Price Estate staring down at you with suspicion in their cold blue-eyes. It was even stranger to have them look so much like your own family and not have a relation in the entire bunch, or so thought Ron as he averted his gaze staring back down at the intricate patterns of the rug he stood on. He admitted that not every redhead resembled the other, but admiring paintings of his friend Wesley was like looking into his own reflection.  
  
Stranger were the pictures of Wesley's wedding that lined the black body of the home's grand piano. To see his friend smiling back at him from the confines of a wooden frame, he seemed so happy and carefree and so far from the world of war and pain—so very far from the battle that would take him away from his wife and child and the life he deserved to live.  
  
Ripping his eyes from the piano, Ron told himself _"It's not your fault,"_ It was a mantra that Harry had donated, even though Ron knew Harry still blamed himself for a death that happened when he was only fourteen-years old.   
  
"It wasn't your fault," he whispered to himself, leaving the archway of the sitting room.  
  
"What are you whispering about?" Pansy asked, appearing at the height of the stairs, long periwinkle robes draping her body and a giant hat that reached from one of her shoulders to the other.   
  
"Nothing," he replied quickly and for the first time noticed the unearthly quiet of the home. Putting his hand down to the child's height, he asked, "Where's the midget?"   
  
"At the Parkinson's Estate in Bath with my brother, Peter and his wife. I sent our only house-elf with her too," she answered, sounding put-out having to survive without a servant.   
  
"Damn, however are you going to get around with out your help?"  
  
"I'm not," she answered. "Fetch my trunk will you?"   
  
"You have arms, _'fetch'_ your own bloody trunk," Ron answered. Who did she think she was? She couldn't honestly believe that he was some sort of Man Servant, could she?   
  
"You _can't_ be serious," she drawled, looking at him with what could only be described as shock.   
  
"As a Dark Lord," he said dryly. "Now pick it up and let's move," he ordered, showing her his back as he turned towards the door.   
  
By the absence of heels on marble he correctly assumed that she wasn't following him and turned to find her standing on the bottom step her thin lips parted.  
  
"Now, Pansy," he ordered, pointing up the stairs where her luggage sat immobile.   
  
Her dark blue eyes narrowed on him for an instant as she turned around to march her way up the stairs, her thin heels clicking violently against the bare marble staircase. She turned around on him when she reached the landing, watching him with narrowed eyes as she pulled her wand from a pocket in her robes and shrunk her trunks to half their size.  
  
"Unlike _you,_ who clearly couldn't careless about his appearance. I refuse to walk about in wrinkled clothing, Weasley," she sneered, grabbing her two half-sized trunks and dragging them down the marble staircase. Ron cringed as the metal accents that adorned the corners of her trunk scraped the rug-less stone making a sound close to that of nails being dragged across a blackboard. But Pansy didn't seem bothered at all as she let one of the trunks fall down the last three stairs landing too close to his foot.  
  
Looking down at the heavy antique trunk at his feet, he asked, "So... you're ready?"  
  
"Yes, I suppose I am," she answered. "Where's it at?"  
  
"Where's what?" he asked, arching an eyebrow.   
  
"The Portkey," she answered, rolling her big eyes.   
  
"We're not at Hogwarts anymore. We can Apparate to Diagon Alley y'know," he answered with sauciness, that was uncharacteristic to him.   
  
"I can't," she said quickly.   
  
"What... is Pansy Parkinson-Price too good to Apparate like everyone else?" he asked, satisfied in the grimace she shot back.   
  
"No, you idiot!" she answered. "I can't Apparate; I never got my licence."   
  
"Well, I don't have a Portkey so you're just going to have to find your own way there," he said, lifting his wand ready to Apparate.   
  
Pansy held her hand up, her demeanor changing as quickly as her lacy blue glove shot up to stop him, "Let's Floo together," she offered.  
  
Ron looked back at her. Was she truly this dependent on people? How did Wesley ever survive a year of marriage with her?   
  
"Why can't you Floo by yourself?"   
  
"Because I don't want to," she said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Please?" she pleaded.  
  
As she looked up at him, her blue eyes widening, her red lips pouting, and her pin-curls bouncing with her fidgets, she reminded Ron so much of a child that he almost felt pity for her.  
  
"Where are we Flooing in?" he asked, giving in.   
  
"Just follow my lead Weasley," she answered smiling.   
  
"Another order," Ron mumbled, following her to the massive fireplace. She took the black antique urn from the mantle above her head, grabbing a handful of glittering pink powder and spreading it into the flames, she shouted,"Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions."  
  
_Stupid Girl, Madam Malkin's isn't on the Floo Network?_ was Ron's last thought as he repeated her gesture and disappeared from the fireplace.   
  
The stacks of boxes, yard-spools of bright fabrics, and half-finished robes, proved to Ron that Pansy was right, Madam Malkin's indeed was connected to the Floo Network, but her fireplace must have been in a storage room. He looked for Pansy and found her sitting on her knees by her trunks, brushing herself off with her gloves, her face gray with ash and Ron ran a hand over his own to erase the signs of cinder.  
  
"What?" she asked gloomily, wiping the last remaining specs from her robes.  
  
Standing, she tried balancing her two trunks and opening the door for him into what was certainly Madam Malkin's shop on Diagon Alley though Ron had never seen it from this angle before.   
  
"Pansy Perpetua Parkinson," Madam Malkin greeted, abandoning the customer in her shop and rushing over to the door that Pansy had opened. "You haven't been in my shop in ages. Where have you been?" she started with a line of questioning that bored Ron quickly.  
  
"I'm going to wait outside," he whispered behind her, but Pansy grabbed his arm tightly digging her nails into his bicep, immobilizing him.   
  
Only letting go when the squat woman turned to help a customer, "We're not staying here longer than we must," she hissed at him through a forced smile, trying to march him between the rounders of colorful robes and balance her luggage.   
  
"Perpetua? Ron asked, stepping out of the shop door she he held open for her.   
  
"Don't," she ordered, not looking at him as she dragged her trunks across the threshold.   
  
"Don't what?" he asked, innocently.   
  
"I don't know, but whatever it is just don't," she demanded.  
  
"Whatever you say...Perpetua," he answered, behind a laugh.   
  
She tilted her head to throw what Ron suspected to be her best death glare but he just smirked to show how unaffected he was as he walked behind her effortlessly carrying his own shrunken trunk in his hand.  
  
When she turned back, Ron looked back over the street. There weren't many people out today, but it must have been from the early frost they had received.   
  
"Merlin!" She abruptly turned and dropped her trunk at his feet, causing Ron to trip. Landing painfully on the wooden walkway, his own trunk flew an arm's length away.  
  
"You dropped your trunk you dumb cow!" he yelled, crawling over to retrieve his shrunken trunk before standing and dusting the dirt from his trousers.   
  
"It's beautiful," she exhaled, evidently ignoring the mini-rant he'd just delivered.   
  
"What're you going on about now?" he asked, annoyed at her obliviousness at the events happening around her.  
  
"Wait here and watch my things, Weasel," she said, not bothering to direct it at him.   
  
"Is that an order?"   
  
"Just do it," she commanded, opening the door to the shop.  
  
_Girl must be mad,_ Ron thought turning his back to her trunks.   
  
"She can watch her own bloody luggage," he grumbled to himself, searching the pockets of his robes for the fresh apple he had stashed earlier in the day. It was barely from his pocket before he began shining it on his dark robe.   
  
Taking the first bite of his breakfast, he was amused in the crunchy sound the skin made against teeth. He leaned onto one of the wooden posts outside the store she had run into, savoring the sweet taste of his fruit and scanning the few wizards and witches roaming the street.   
  
How had he gotten himself into this? How had he let his life come to accepting offers or having even trades with the evil Ferret? What would his father think about that? He'd be so disappointed. What or who brought him to this?  
  
Ron was pulled from his self-inflicted interrogation as the sound of snickering behind him grabbed his attention. He turned quickly around, his hand deep in his pocket, feeling the comfort of smooth wood against his fingers, but his instincts were wrong as a group of youths ran off, their colourful cloaks flying out behind them.   
  
_Youths...No respect for their elders,_ Ron thought with disdain, returning to his apple. He was in mid-bite when an elderly owl landed on the sign above him, a letter tied neatly to its small leg. Ron shrugged, finishing his apple with a few more bites, before he let it fall to the ground before him. He looked back up at the owl, its huge amber eyes staring back down at him as it balanced on one claw to offer him its other.  
  
Ron opened it up and immediately recognized his sister's handwriting,   
  
_Ron,  
Portkey was a No-Go. Plans had to be changed. I've enclosed two tickets for you and Pansy and also a Portkey to the Station. I would have written sooner, but I've only received confirmation from Malfoy this morning.  
  
The Portkey should activate five minutes after you make skin contact. I'm sorry for your inconvenience with the traveling and Pansy. I know she can be a pain in the arse.   
  
-Your Favorite Sister,   
Ginny  
_  
  
"Damn," he said aloud, scanning the letter again.   
  
Ron smelled the floral influences of a perfume but still jumped when a female voice spoke in his ear "Who's that from?"  
  
He tilted his head to see Pansy standing behind him, her bright eyes looking over his shoulder at the letter he had. He could feel her pressing whatever she had carried from the store into his back and it was big and round.   
  
"My sister," he replied, dumbly.  
  
"When are they going to arrive?" she asked, not moving from behind his shoulder.   
  
"They're not." She looked at him quizzically and he could see from her eyes she was trying to read him. "We're taking a train. I've got the tickets and the Portkey," he said, dumping the two tickets and the small gold feather pendant into his hand.  
  
"Oh," she replied stepping away from him and Ron was happy she did because the smell of her perfume was beginning to make him dizzy.   
  
He turned around to face her and saw that what was pressed against his back was a giant hat box much bigger than the one she had brought on the trip. It swished from side to side as Pansy looked at the ground around her quizzically, as if she just noticed something, "Weasley?" she asked and he could hear the worry in her voice, "Where are my things?"   
  
*~*~*  
  
Ernie Macmillian knew how to travel in style or at least that's what Ginny thought as she reclined into the comfortable pillows of her seat. The train he had booked for them was easily to find when they arrived at the station, being the only robin's egg blue locomotive bound for Egypt and it was void of passengers- most likely from the plague that Egypt was suffering- giving them free reign over all the compartments. And the compartments were beautiful, it was obvious the interior designer was seduced by the Indian culture as everything was lavished with intricate patterns of beautiful reds and golds; a fact she believed was torturing Draco and the reason he'd retired to his own personal compartment.  
  
The thought of him made her both sigh in relief and abhorrence. What was she supposed to do about him? He'd ignored her since the restaurant 'incident' and she couldn't bring herself to ask him why he'd been so cold, so detached. Had she done something wrong? Yes, of course, she thought with sarcasm; she was the distraction and he had to rid himself of distractions didn't he?   
  
Sighing again, she began toying with the bottle of sun tan lotion she'd bought for him. When she had seen it in the store, she'd instantly thought of him and had to buy it, but now from the way he'd been treating her she was having second thoughts.   
  
"Is something wrong, Ginny?" Hermione asked, disturbing her thoughts.   
  
Tilting her head on the beaded pillow, Ginny looked over to Hermione and Harry who sat huddled over a large set of blueprints that Bill had lent them. "No," she answered, airily.   
  
"It certainly _sounds_ as if there's a problem," Hermione said, referring to Ginny's sulky exhales.  
  
"Well...working for a Malfoy tends to cause problems," Harry offered, surprising Ginny by speaking up.   
  
"What would you know about it, Harry?" she asked, sitting up.   
  
"I don't," he admitted, "But I know Malfoy and wherever he happens to be, you can guarantee there is going to be trouble."   
  
"Funny," Ginny replied, playfully tossing Draco's bottle of suntan lotion at him and to no one's surprise he easily caught it. "Draco would have the same to say about you."  
  
Harry snorted, lightly tossing the colorful plastic bottle back to her. "I bet my new _Comet_ that Drac-O has a lot more to say about me than that."  
  
"Actually," Ginny started but the loud crack of their compartment door opening caused her to halt their repartee. She watched as Ron, who was red to his ears and carrying a trunk and oddly an enormous hatbox, stepped into their railroad car, slamming the sliding door behind him. Ginny could see Pansy on the other side of the glass window struggling with the door handle. She, Harry, and Hermione sat speechless as he opened the small storage nook and savagely beat the luggage into fitting. She was opening her mouth to ask her sibling what was wrong, when Pansy stepped in, slamming the abused door behind her. She looked as equally harassed as the young Auror did; her matching large hat slightly askew and her normally perfect brown ringlets were reduced to the point of being considered waves. Her pale face was bright red and her mouth was fixed in a scowl.  
  
Harry was the first to break the tense silence and speak up, "What in the-"  
  
"Don't ask!" they barked in unison. Each sneered as they slid around the other in the small hall between the seats and Ginny swore she heard growling as they marched away from the other.   
  
Running a hand through his mussed black hair Harry started, "Yeah...We're going to." He pointed in the direction Ron had taken.   
  
"Totally understandable," Ginny answered. Her brother obviously needed his two best friends more than she did.  
  
She watched as they both stood, slightly swaying as the train lunged into departure. She looked back at Pansy who sat, red faced, legs and arms crossed, her hair less than perfect from the surrender of her hat to the seat, and the tiniest traces of black soot on her low-cut robes and under her eyes.  
  
"What?!" Pansy screeched, causing Ginny to relinquish their large compartment and find refuge in another.   
  
She walked down the narrow hall, enjoying the slight sway the magical train had as it passed over rough terrain. But something in her stopped as she approached Draco's compartment. He'd insisted on having his own and now that she watched him from his compartment's door, she knew why. It was dark, comfortable, and much like Draco himself.   
  
Surprisingly, for travel Draco had jarred his style, his shirt was neither black nor gray but a royal blue that made his usually translucent eyes pop with color. Its tail was tucked snugly into his dark trousers, revealing his matching leather belt and its small silver buckle that shined against the black of his trousers and waistband. She was amazed the way he didn't once abandon his correct posture even as his legs stretched the distance between the two seats to rest his ankle-crossed feet.   
  
One hand held open his book, a journal, she had seen him with before while the other occupied itself in curling the short locks from the back of his head. If the book itself hadn't been present, she would have wondered if he had been reading at all. He didn't demonstrate any of the typical habits that other readers usually gave into. His lips didn't move as his mind gave pronunciation to each word. His pale eyes didn't rove quickly over every page in a flurry to finish it, instead they seemed to absorb each inked sentence. His face was completely impassive as he read over what could have been the pouring of someone's soul, their dreams, their aspirations, or simply the ingredients of treacle fudge. He was as still and relaxed as Harry had been before she'd thrown the suntan lotion at him and without think she tossed the bottle at Draco too.   
  
To her amazement and relief he snatched it from the air as quickly as his old-rival had.   
  
"Now Weasley," he started, not looking up from his book or moving to bring the bottle down from where he'd caught it. "Are you going to stand, throwing things at me from that threshold all day or are you going to come in?"   
  
"I suppose I'll come in," she said, stepping inside. He had sat himself in the center of the long seat and gave no impression he was intending to move so she slid next to his feet.   
  
"What do you want Weasley?" he asked, still not looking up from his book.   
  
Ginny narrowed her eyes at him. He was certainly being very aloof today, barely speaking to her as they had boarded the train, choosing a train car away from her and the rest of their company.  
  
"I don't usually have conversations with people who talk to books," she said, bending at her waist and tapping the top of his book with her finger.  
  
"No, just people who converse through them," he replied. Draco looked up at her and from the almost apologetic expression he wore she worried her own might be more pathetic than angry.   
  
"So, what's this?" he asked quickly, trying to fill the tense silence that had fallen. His eyes falling on the bottle she'd thrown.  
  
"I thought you might need it 'cause of last time you were in Egypt you burned," she said, gesturing to her face with her hand. "I assumed you wouldn't want to relive that."   
  
"Though I thank you for the gesture, it really wasn't necessary. I've got my goal-posts covered," he tossed it back to her one-handed and Ginny caught it.  
  
She sighed as he turned back to his book and she let her eyes drift to the scenery speeding by her window. She could barely see past the gray fog that had developed on the glass from the cold outside.   
  
"I still don't see how you didn't know about sunburn. I mean you played Quidditch too-"  
  
He cut her off with the sharp crack of his book being shut one handed, "Since you are so determined to keep me from reading this book, I guess I'll indulge you in a little Malfoy trade. Ever heard of _Antidotium Adustus?"_ Ginny shook her head no and Draco continued in a more flat voice than before, "I shouldn't have expected you to; it's very advanced healing magic. You could probably learn more about it in that book I bought you on Diagon Alley."  
  
"_Potions for Every Ailment_?"  
  
"That would be the one," he answered, softly pulling his legs down and placing his feet on the floor.   
  
Ginny slid down the seat to sit where his feet had been, sitting directly before of him.   
  
"I never did thank-you for that," she said, her voice coming out a little deeper than she'd meant.   
  
"I'm sure I'll think of something later," he answered, smirking. There was a glitter in his eyes that she hadn't seen before.  
  
"Anyway, the spell itself involves very complicated wrist movements and exact pronunciation for it to work properly-"  
  
"Yes but you still haven't told me why you didn't know," she interrupted.   
  
Draco sighed aloud at her impatience, his breath telling her of his aggravation. "I was getting to that. The charm lasts an average of eight to ten years and protects the skin from any solar exposure."  
  
"That's some charm," she noted.   
  
She saw his ash-brows furrow a little and when he spoke his voice was flat, "Yes, it is. Ten years worth."   
  
Ten years…Who would put an entire decade's worth of charm on their child? What kind of person could think that was a good idea? She'd heard of people having tracking and protective charms placed on their toddlers but they were quite expensive spells and usually lasted for less than a week.  
  
"Wait!" Ginny exclaimed. "You're tellin' me, you had a charm on you for _ten years_ and you didn't know. You didn't feel it?"  
  
"If you are asking me if I was aware of it then my answer is no?"   
  
Ginny arched her eyebrow at him letting him know her doubt. He sighed, rubbing the brown leather spine of his book across his fingers, "Haven't your parents ever done things that you just accepted? You just didn't question? You just followed because you trusted them to _know,_ to _do_ the right thing?  
  
"No," she answered honestly, feeling a bit disturbed that he did.  
  
Instantly, his eyes took on their steely gray again narrowing with hostility on hers. She could feel in the atmosphere that his persona was shifting, from a man looking for understanding to one that didn't want to understand, "Well, then. There's another difference between you and me, Ginny _Weasley._" he snapped, opening his book, signifying the end of their conversation.   
  
Ginny looked at his bent head; he had indeed returned to his book, but his eyes didn't move at all as he concentrated on the handwritten pages. She wondered if he was actually reading or just looking for a distraction from her. She sighed, reclining back in her seat rubbing the smooth bottle and taking in the steadily changing scenery.  
  
*~*~*  
  
The remainder of the ride to Luxor was uneventful with the exception of Ron and Pansy throwing insults at each other. Draco wasn't completely sure but from what he could discern it seemed that Brother Weasley had lost the sum of Pansy's luggage in some youthful-thug related conspiracy, or at least that was Pansy's accusation.  
  
He didn't speak to anyone as they deserted the train station, each traveler shouldering their own luggage, with the exception of Pansy who forced Weasley to carry her hatbox. He followed the path led by Ginny and Granger through Wizard Luxor, listening to their girlish voices as they argued over the directions the pompous Hufflepuff, Macmillian gave them. _There were only three bloody main streets how hard was it to navigate,_ he thought gloomily passing the National Wizarding Bank of Egypt and onto another street.  
  
It would be an understatement to say that Draco was glad when they finally found their hotel and he was able to settle into a plush chair. The lobby was deserted, with the exception of a small American family that sat quietly together on one of the long sofas the hotel offered. But he paid them no mind as he watched the exchange of foreign language between Granger, Pansy, and the House of Life Hotel's manager.  
  
Boring easily with their unintelligible conversation, he opened his leather pouch rescuing his tin of sweets that he had hidden there. He slyly uncovered one from its shiny red wrapper and tossed the tin and all back in before anyone would have the audacity to ask him to share. They'd been traveling all day without one bite to eat and Draco savored the burning taste of cinnamon against his tongue. Taking another look around at his busy companions, Draco opened the journal he'd been carrying.  
  
The author, Seraphim White had been quite the interesting vampire. Destructive and sadistic? Yes, but never-the-less interesting.  
  
_I traveled here from Germany and have to admit to myself that things are quite different. At least I believe they are different from my homeland, because my memories have begun to blur with the passing of each year-_  
  
The click of heels on stone approaching him caused Draco to suspend his reading once more to discover the two brunettes that had been speaking with the manager moments before, were approaching him.   
  
Granger as usual had to start speaking first, "The manager says he is happy to take us in for the evening, but-"  
  
"-Tomorrow we're going to need to find another form of shelter," Pansy piped in.   
  
"Why?" asked, Ron. "Are they closing down or something?"   
  
"Because this-" Hermione paused as Pansy handed Ron and Harry the large map they'd been carrying. Draco could see different fluorescent lines and marks leading the different predetermined routes that the girls must have just written because they hadn't been there when Ginny had been holding it earlier. "-is entirely too far to travel to and from."  
  
"Travel?" Potter asked. "What do you mean by travel? Why can't we just Apparate?"  
  
"Because the Ministry has strict rules against it at the moment," Draco trailed a look at Potter to give his best "I know something you don't know" glare, "Wards, Potter. The Ministry has installed Wards."  
  
"Well, what would they do that for?" Potter asked and Draco could hear from his tone that Potter refused to believe him.  
  
"An uncontrollable, destructive, roving Mummy," Ginny offered, nonchalantly. Draco dared a glance in her direction. She was comfortably sitting on her end of the sofa, her hair a red curtain around her as she read the magazine laying open her thighs.   
  
"A mummy?!" He heard Pansy's screech.   
  
He abandoned reasons to listen to Auror Weasley, as he was confident Ginny would have knowledge of the exact same story, and he'd much rather hear it from her.  
  
"Y'know Weasley, you could have informed me of the homicidal Mummy before dragging me down here."  
  
"If I remember correctly, you were the one so eager to get here," she shot back, and for a moment Draco was taken aback. Why was Weasley so hacked off?  
  
"So?" he countered.   
  
But Ginny didn't answer as Granger attempted to gather everyone's attention again, "We have four rooms but only two of them have their own bathing-room, so-"  
  
"Wait," Draco interrupted, holding up his finger to stop her. "I'm going to have to share a bathing-room with _you_ lot?"   
  
Granger's reply was throwing a small silver thing towards his face but he easily caught it and turned it over to discover it was a skeleton key, "No, Malfoy," she replied in a crackled voice caused by forced polite voice. "You and _Pansy_ will share one and _we_ will share the other."  
  
"Right then," Draco said, feeling a bit more relaxed at the prospect of not sharing the same toilet with Potter. He stood with his trunk in hand to march up the stairs, rid himself of his companions, and order himself something edible.  
  
*~*~*  
  
Ron stepped out of the warm steam from his shower, quickly drying the skin over his muscles and scars, before pulling on the white T-shirt he'd left draping over the porcelain rim of the sink. Tapping his wand against the mirror, the fog immediately drifted away, giving him a clear reflection of himself. He shook out the water from his hair, reveling in the feel of being clean. He loved being clean. Once Harry had accused him of being obsessed with it, but Harry just didn't understand. He didn't know what it was like not bathing for months, not having the simple pleasure of touching your face and feeling your skin and not dirt and blood. Giving his strawberry hair a final shake, Ron opened the door, expecting to find Harry or Hermione in his room but who was bent over his trunk surprised him.  
  
"Pansy, what do you think you're doing?" he questioned, swiftly moving over to his trunk.   
  
"Looking for clothes. You?" she calmly answered, not bothering to remove herself from his luggage.  
  
"Stopping you..." he replied, forcing her to sit back on her calves and feet, which wasn't simple since all she wore was a red and gold hotel towel, and shutting his trunk. "Now what were you doing going through my things, Pansy?"   
  
She looked aggravated, staring up at him, "I told you, I was looking for clothes.   
  
The expression he gave her encouraged her on.  
  
"Since someone, namely you, had _all_ of my luggage stolen except for one hat box. I'm pretty pinched for clothing."   
  
Ron studied her for a moment, debating with himself if that was the true reason she had been in his trunk. From her lack of clothing at the moment and the fact that he indeed did misplace her luggage he was _almost_ positive she wasn't lying.  
  
"Why don't you just go out and buy something?" he asked.   
  
"From here?" He nodded.   
  
"Okay ew," she replied, giving him a look as if she'd just stepped into something foul. "All they have is Muggle shops and what's it matter anyway Weasley? All I want to borrow is a bloody shirt."  
  
He just stared down at her as he sat himself on his bed. He could see she was trying to give him her best pleading look but it wasn't going to work on him again; he could assure her that. But she kept looking up with those big eyes of hers and Ron felt his resolve lessening.  
  
"Well...What about trousers? I assure you mine wouldn't be the right fit," he replied.   
  
Taking his answer as a yes, Pansy opened his trunk again. Submerged herself up to her elbows in his clothes, before answering "I have trousers covered, I just borrowed a pair of your sister's."   
  
"Ginny's? But she's shorter than Hermione?" he asked puzzled as he felt his head instinctively tilting to give himself a better look at the skin of her thighs that her towel was exposing as she buried herself deeper into his trunk.  
  
"Yes, but Granger put a lock on her trunk."  
  
"Wait...what?" he asked, hoping she'd repeat her answer. He hadn't been really listening or paying her voice any mind at all, the first time.  
  
Pansy didn't answer but sat up with his faded orange T-shirt in hand. "The Chudley Cannons?" she asked, "What _are_ you some kind of fair weather fan? Think that just because your friend happens to be their newest seeker or that they're actually winning you can _just_ jump aboard?"   
  
"What?" he asked, flustered by her sudden interrogation.  
  
"I was a fan when they were losing three-hundred to zero, and fans like you-" she continued.  
  
"Like me!" he interrupted. "Sorry to break it to ya' Pansy but I was a fan long before you ever picked up a broom."   
  
"Really?" she asked with a mixture of surprise and unveiled respect. Her crystal eyes appraising him like an impressive set of designer robes.   
  
Ron watched her critique of him accepting the opportunity to do the same. Like this, she wasn't half-bad looking. Her hair dark was wet and dripping water down her back, her clean face exposing her natural flaws taking away the attention that was always centered on her nose, and most importantly she looked defenseless but comfortable, even with her judging eyes looking at him over his bright orange T-shirt.   
  
"You're a Chudley Cannons fan?" he asked, breaking their silent evaluations with a question of doubt. "I thought Slytherins only liked winners."  
  
"Yes, well...Let's just keep that our little secret shall we?" she smiled an odd genuine smile, before bending over his trunk again and retrieving a ball of light-blue fabric.  
  
Ron sat back on the palms of his hands letting his weight sink into the made bed he hadn't slept in, as he watched her try and smooth out the many wrinkles of his shirt with her wand. He'd discovered before his shower that Pansy had been right about one thing, shrinking your trunk did leave horrible wrinkles in your clothing.   
  
"So, are you going to borrow it or what?" he asked impatiently. He'd seen her glide her wand over the bright fabric for the fourth time before she finally climbed to her feet, proving that his head tilting had not been in vain. She did have nice legs.   
  
She sighed. "I suppose I'll take this one. It is the nicest one you have."   
  
"Sorry, I didn't have any cashmere sweaters but the shop was all-out," he sarcastically replied, sneering at her. It was odd how in so many words, Pansy could completely change your perception of her.   
  
"Whatever, Weasel," she replied, moving to his door. "Since you're doing me the agonizing favor of loaning me your precious shirt, I'll repay the good deed."  
  
"I'm tired of listening to people who want to do me favors."  
  
"You're going to want to hear this one," she said, opening the door.  
  
"Like I wanted to hear that my sister was working for Malfoy?" he asked, feeling his voice growing hard.   
  
"No, it's a tad more important than that," she insisted.   
  
"Then let's have it," he pressured, sweeping his hand over the rough duvet.  
  
"Don't trust Malfoy," she answered.   
  
"I thought you were going to tell me something I didn't know," he retorted.   
  
"It's more than that Weasley. He's like a boggart. He only let's you see what he wants you to see. Trust me, he doesn't know where Blaise is," she answered, turning to find Harry standing in the door way. "Potter," she said in way of a greeting.   
  
"Pansy," he answered, standing aside to let her pass into the hall. Harry watched her for a moment and turning back to Ron, his bright eyes bearing his confusion, he asked, "What just happened here?"   
  
"I have no idea," Ron admitted.   
  
*~*~*  
  
The morning was quite nice if uncomfortably warm as Draco tried to survive his walk along the dusty street. He'd been subjected to Ginny and Granger's horrid sense of direction as they searched for the transportation facility that Macmillian had suggested and when it appeared they'd passed the same merchant alley for the third time, they'd reluctantly handed the reins to Pansy. Draco admitted the girl had her flaws but it seemed she'd been born with an internal compass. She had led them easily to their destination and as Granger and Pansy negotiated their form of transportation, the rest of their party was left to wander.   
  
Draco found himself following the same path Ginny, Weasley, and Potter had taken. Draco felt she'd grown quite attached to Scarhead over the portion of this trip and disturbingly he found old feelings of envy beginning to rise in him. He tried to chastise himself at how childish it was to feel jealousy over a boy who was still less of a wizard than he was but he could only hide his anger as Ginny laughed at something stupid Potter had said. He was so absorbed in watching her freckled arm brush against Potter's that he didn't notice the thing that plowed into him until they both lay sprawled on the dirty sidewalk.  
  
He fought to clear his vision of the sand that seemed to envelope everything around him, as the grisly voice of his attacker continued to apologize.   
  
"So sorry, sir," the cloaked figure growled, attempting to pull Draco up by the collar of his robes.   
  
"You should watch where you're going," Draco barked, letting the hands lift him from the ground, until he recognized the gnarled fingers, the gruff voice, and the distinct smell of blood and troll brains that wafted off his aide.  
  
His breakfast threatened his throat as he stumbled away from the fez wearing demon. What was he doing in Luxor? He was supposed to be in Cairo; he was supposed to _stay_ in Cairo.   
  
"Oi, Malfoy," Pansy's voice shrieked from up the street, momentarily gaining Draco's attention and when he looked back the shop owner was gone. "Are you okay?"  
  
"Yes," he snapped, trying to compose himself. He hastily caught up with his party and continued to brush the filth from his clothing off. It would take the burning of his new robes to get the stench of decay off him.   
  
"Well..." Pansy said, staring at him with doubt. "Granger's finished. She got us a magic carpet instead of camels. The carpet's much quicker."   
  
"Great," he snapped, pushing past her and into the center of their now congregated entourage.   
  
"Who was that you were talking to?" she questioned from behind him when they reached their destination.   
  
"No one," he hissed, moving to see their means of transportation. The sight and smell that assaulted him made Draco momentarily forget about his meeting in the alley. "You don't actually expect me to ride on this thing do you? It smells like..." Weasley, he wanted to say but his father's words censured his insult in time. "-the wrong end of a camel," he finished, lamely. Even to his own ears, it was a weak criticism.  
  
"You know at one point I actually found you witty, Malfoy. Whatever happened to that quick tongue of yours?" Pansy asked, still standing behind him. Draco felt a smirk tugging on the side of his lips. His father hadn't said anything about humiliating Pansy.   
  
"And at one time I actually found you more attractive than the ugly toy-pug you resemble so much. Whatever could have happened to my blindness _or_ your husband's for that matter?"   
  
Draco could feel a certain power coming from his belittling of Pansy and it felt good.   
  
"Tell me Pansy, did he really die? Or just fake his death so he didn't have face anymore? Because from what I hear he had to wear blindfold before he could-"   
  
"Draco?!" he heard the surprise in Ginny's voice at his insults and turning to find her mid-climb with the assistance of Potter, Draco couldn't hold back his temper.   
  
"Weasley!" he barked back and watched her dark eyes narrow down on him. He wouldn't mind going toe to toe with Ginny. After all, she was only a distraction from his cause.   
  
"Will you people just shut-it and get on the bloody carpet," Potter grunted, pulling Ginny onto the carpet.   
  
"Don't tell me what to do Potter," he argued. His father only said to be civil; he had said nothing of being ordered around.  
  
"Walk then, it makes no difference to me," Potter rebutted. With the help of Weasley, they quickly pulled Pansy onto the carpet too leaving Draco the sole person on the ground.  
  
They all appeared to be comfortable as they adjusted themselves to the movements of the rug. Poising himself on what could only be called the driver's seat Weasley looked down at him, his face already rouging in the late morning sun, "Goodbye, Malfoy."  
  
Draco watched as the carpet and its five occupants rose and flew off, hovering feet above the flat sand as it cut through the dry-air at a broomsticks speed. He could feel his anger bubbling within him as they became smaller and smaller to him. The different shades of their hair merging in the wind, he could see red entangling with black as two of the passengers sat closer together and his temper sharpened. Then as if they forgot something important-which he thought they had- the rug turned sharply and flew back at _Firebolt_ speed.  
  
Ginny was the only one to look at him as the carpet glided and hovered in the air before him. Stray red hairs were already beginning to loosen from her ponytail only adding to the look of harassment she wore. Staring at him with cold brown eyes she asked dryly, "Would you _please_ ride on the carpet?"   
  
Draco stared back at her, loving the look of indecisiveness she was trying to hide behind anger. "Well since, you begged me..." he teased.  
  
He climbed onto the wave like object and sat behind Ginny, knowing that it would bother her. He disliked the foreign item under him, the unstable feeling the carpet gave to its rider. It wasn't like a broomstick where he had absolute control. It was erratic, bumping and moving as it shaped to the dunes of sand it glided over. As it took a sharp turn, he felt his body being pulled from his seat, and finally understood the reasons why they were illegal in Britain. Charmed furniture was very dangerous and putting a hand through his tresses, he was vainly reminded that it also made a mussed of your hair.  
  
*~*~*  
  
Draco laid on his flat mattress, his head resting on his equally flat pillow staring at the wooden planks of the top bunks bottom. He still couldn't believe he'd actually agreed to sleep inside a _rented_ tent. A rented tent? The mere thought of knowing someone slept where he was sleeping made Draco twitch with repulsion even though he'd made Ginny perform three delousing and cleaning charms regardless of her never finding a trace of parasite or stain on his mattress.  
  
He turned over on his small _used_ bed. The knot-tying nerves that had been plaguing him since, the flying carpet that had followed the bank of The Nile had dropped them unceremoniously off at their designated point, which according to its installed navigational system was in the middle of nowhere with nothing but sand, the river, the crypt for miles. Draco had felt his stomach lurch at his first sight of the tomb, everything was made real at seeing it and that fact made him tremble with both excitement and fear. Two emotions that had followed him inside his tent.   
  
Draco ignored Pansy as she flounced around in her oversized blue shirt, instead staring intently at the blueprints that he'd set on the small table between their bunked beds. The orange glow from the fireplace lit the room well enough for him to read the different rooms and halls of the map. Granger had given it to him at dinner, with a tablet full of _her suggestions_ to find the Altar Room that seemed to be nonexistent on this map. He had barely held back a sneer as he had slid the long white paper off the table and into his dark leather pouch with the journal and the quarter of the map he owned...well the only quarter of the map he owned until tomorrow.   
  
With that thought Draco felt his muscles tighten and the nervous urge to pop every joint in his body. The nervous shake his body and psyche was suffering was reminiscent of his nights at Hogwarts before he'd climb on his broom and force himself to face Potter. Ignoring his body and bitter memories Draco rolled in his bunk facing the green tarp that was his wall for the night.   
  
He could hear girlish giggling outside the wall of his tent. The snickering, he recognized as Ginny and the lighter tinkle, he chucked up to being Granger who had appointed herself and Ginny as the first scouts. He had effortlessly discerned Ginny's chuckle from the other's because; she had such distinctive laughs, he thought trying to fall asleep. He'd heard them before, her nervous laugh, her blithe laugh, he'd even heard her give an unladylike snort before but the way she laughed with Granger was entirely different. It just seemed forced and unnatural.  
  
"Will they ever Shut-up!" Pansy yelled. He'd been coupled with her because Granger thought that it just seemed the most natural way to bunk: He and Pansy, Weasley and Potter, and Granger and Ginny.  
  
"Why don't you just go tell them?" he asked, rolling over on his stomach and burying his head under his flat pillow.   
  
"I think I will," Pansy answered, nearly pulling him from his drowsiness.  
  
"You do that," he mumbled into his mattress. The last thing Draco remembered before drifting off was the sound of her moving out of her own cot, the sound of vinyl flaps as she exited their tent, and the sweet smell of the Mountain Fresh scent Ginny had charmed on his bed sheets .   
  
His dreams had been confusing labyrinths of trees and brush that seemed too only bring him in circles, chasing after some unknown prize but the sharp feel of a wand-point poking into the skin between his ribs, quickly brought Draco back to, or what he thought was quick as he looked into black wire-rimmed green-eyes.   
  
"Potter?" he asked, still feeling disoriented. "What the...?"   
  
"Get-up," the black hair boy replied, standing erect. "It's yours and Pansy's turn to play scout."  
  
"No it's not," he said rubbing his ribs, where he was positive he would bruise. "You and Weasley are after Granger."  
  
"Ron and I already did our job. He's waking Pansy up now, so get dressed and stop being the worthless-" But Potter didn't get to finish as they heard a girly screech.  
  
Both turned to Pansy's bed armed and ready to defend themselves, but instead of finding a distraught Pansy, they found Weasley one hand gripping his lit wand and the other shielding his eyes as he backed away from her bunk.  
  
"Ron, what's happened?" Potter asked, moving over to his sidekick. The concern that etched the premature lines of Potter's thin face, went unnoticed by Draco. He was too absorbed in evaluating himself against the bare-chested Seeker but Weasley's voice thankfully pulled him from his self-deprecating.  
  
"Underwear," he croaked. "Parkinson sleeps in her knickers."  
  
The room stood silent for a moment before Potter started laughing and as he let loose so did Weasley and they grabbed each other readying themselves to leave. Obviously, there was some form of personal humor between them that was completely lost on Draco.   
  
"Wait," he asked. "You're not going to leave me with _her_ are you? She's still sleeping."   
  
"Sounds like your problem," Potter answered, shutting the netting of their tent.   
  
After five minutes of unsuccessfully trying to rise Pansy and ten minutes of sitting with nothing but fire, sand, and stars as company, Draco decided to find Ginny. She'd already served her guard duty and gotten herself a reasonable amount of sleep. She wouldn't mind sitting up with him, would she? Of course not.  
  
Draco stepped through the mosquito net flaps of Ginny and Granger's tent. It was cool inside the four canvas walls, even with the small golden fire that was burning in their fireplace. As he slowly traveled deeper into their tent, moving closer to Ginny's bed he felt his body move through some force and the stillness of their tent was immediately discarded as he heard a childlike whimper coming from her bed.  
  
He sat on the edge of the wide cot as he watched her thrash against her covers. He'd seen her this way before and he had carelessly left her, but things were different now. He couldn't let her cry this way and he grabbed her firmly by her arms feeling the sweat that had seeped through the soft material of her long-sleeved pajama top despite the cool air of the room. He shook her fiercely, lifting her upper body from her mattress.  
  
He'd never felt something so fragile before this and Ginny cried against him. She tore at the first button of his shirt with her hands, trying to fight him or whatever monster had invaded her mind.  
"C'mon Weasley wake-up," he said, shaking her again, and regretting his choice of leaving his wand under his pillow.   
  
Her eyes shot open, looking at him with shock and wonder and Draco could see the terror she held in them. "Tom?" she whispered, her body going still in his hands. Draco could feel her muscles tensing under his fingers and palms, as her eyes looked right into his and she attacked him with a primal desire.   
  
Her fists beat painfully against his chest and he could feel her legs freeing from the covers they had been trapped under. Fearing what her knee would do to more important parts of his body, Draco attempted to pin her to the mattress. The two struggled in her bed, Ginny punching and kicking, scratching and biting, into him, before he successfully secured her to the mattress.   
  
"Weasley," he hissed, his breath coming short, through the gold and scarlet tangles of her hair, into what he was sure was her ear, "It's I, Weasley, It's Malfoy."  
  
"Draco?" she asked, her voice no more than a whisper.   
  
"Yes, Draco," he answered, freeing her wrists from his grip. He had the odd desire to pet her hair away from her face but fought against it. He slowly climbed off her, in hopes that his body wouldn't react to the combination of her scent and his body crushing hers but he couldn't resist leaving a hand gently on her thigh.  
  
She turned away from Draco causing his hand to fall limply from her thigh to the bed. Curling her hands around her body she whispered, "I'm sorry. I thought-" but her voice cracked and he was sure he heard a quiet sob break against her throat.  
  
Draco sat still; he'd never really been in a position to comfort someone before and found it quite discomfiting. He put his hand on one she had wrapped around her arm, and briefly he felt the quivering her body was suffering before she cringed away from him.  
  
"Don't," she said.   
  
"Is there-Can I-" Draco for the first time had nothing to say. What did one say in a time like this? He looked over to Granger's bed and the former Head girl was still sleeping soundly. The weight in the bed shifted and he turned back to find Ginny looking up at him.   
  
"Where's Ron?" she croaked.   
  
"Sleeping, I'm sure. Which is why I came in here in the first place," he said, looking across to the fireplace.  
  
"You have nightmares too?" she asked, and Draco felt her pushing her hair from her face and wiping furiously at her eyes with the cuff of her sleeve.   
"Sometimes," he answered, honestly. "But that's not important. I just came in here because Pansy's passed dead away and I wanted to see if you wouldn't mind taking watch with me but," he paused to look down at her. Her eyes were focused on him, the deep brown almost black, searching his face, through the melded dark cinnamon lashes that gave the illusion they were even longer than they were and the faint red rim that they lined. Her scarlet hair was pushed away, stained crimson from her sweat, lining her round face. Oddly enough after their struggle, her embarrassment, and her few silent tears, she still looked pretty to him—pretty, but so childlike. He sighed internally before he continued, "I can do it myself."  
  
"No, it's alright," she said, sitting up to him. "I'm alright. Just let me straighten up."  
  
Draco stood outside her tent, running over what just happened to her. Was Ginny Weasley crazy? This wasn't the first time that he'd seen her struggling against unseen phantoms. He could hear her moving quietly around the tent inside. Obviously she hadn't put a Silencing charm on the whole tent. He listened to the water splash as she washed her face in the basin and the whine of her trunk's hinges as she opened it to retrieve her wand.  
  
He cleared his throat as she stepped out of the tent, her long hair pulled up and away from her face. She put a finger to her lips, silencing him, as she warded the flaps closed.  
  
They were a few steps away, when in hopes that she would be surprised in telling him the truth, Draco sprang the question on her, "So would you like to tell me what happened back there?"   
  
"Not particularly," she answered, stopping and turning to him. He could see her looking for sympathy from him, "It's nothing, really."   
  
"_Nothing?_ So this _nothing_ is safe to ask your brother about tomorrow at breakfast?"   
  
"Y'know, Draco you've never told me anything about _your_ past, so why should I tell you about mine," she whispered harshly returning to her walk to the camp's fire.   
  
"You tell me your past, I'll tell you mine," he said playfully, catching up to her in less than a stride.  
  
Ginny stopped, her dark eyes running from his shoeless feet to his mussed hair. He could see she was analyzing his intentions as stared up at him. "I don't think so."   
  
"Come on Weasley," he drawled, dragging out her surname in a way that made her stomach flutter, "There must be something you have been dying to know."   
  
"Alright Draco," she said, sitting down onto the blanket that had been laid down for the guards. "I want to know where you were during the War."   
  
Ginny watched as he slowly lowered himself to the ground beside her, his shock at her demand apparent in the hesitating of his answer. "You first," he ordered.  
  
Ginny smiled nervously at him. Did Draco really want to know what happened to her? The reasons she fought against sleep and the experiences that she lived that had formed the thoughts and morals she had. Sucking in a deep breath Ginny started to speak, her words running together in her frenzy to finish or breaking off mid-sentence as she encountered memories with such emotion she knew she had lived each moment, survived each milestone.   
  
She spoke of their first meeting in Flourish & Blotts, the first time she wrote in her diary, the first time it wrote back. She stumbled over the sentences that involved chickens and blackouts and blood. She felt Draco involuntary flinch beside her when she sighed with content as she summoned memories of waking up to green-eyes and Harry Potter playing hero.   
  
She could hear the confusion in her voice that she had felt when her "Gift" exposed itself for the first time. It was after the end of her fifth-year, when her brother Bill, the curse breaker, had brought to the Burrow some harmless artifacts but when she played with them she saw things that no one else did, horrible things.   
  
The scenes had frightened her and she kept quiet. What was the use in worrying everyone? Telling her secret to no one until during the height of the war she met someone like herself-someone who carried the same burden she did, someone who introduced her to the right people. The people who got her the office, the job, she had today.   
  
"You still haven't explained what your fit back there was about," he coerced.   
  
"Side-effect."   
  
"Side-effect?" he asked, not sounding convinced.  
  
"We all suffer side-effects, Draco," she said nonchalantly, "Nightmares, migraines... It's nothing really, just another part of the job." She sighed. "Now, I think we've learned enough about me, tonight."   
  
"I don't think that's possible," he answered.   
  
Ginny looked at him with interest for a moment before she laughed, "Don't try to charm your way out now Draco _Malfoy._ It's your turn."   
  
She could feel their semi-jovial atmosphere dwindling as Draco sat silently beside her. He sighed, pushing the long fringe of his hair back, his clear gray eyes looking up to the stars.  
  
"Whatever I say Ginny, you aren't allowed to judge me for it nor can you run off to tell your brother or anyone else. Do you understand?" he asked and Ginny nodded not honestly knowing what she was agreeing to.   
  
Unlike her own recounted memories, told with the emotions she'd had while living them, Draco's voice read his experience like he was reciting a book in _History of Magic_ and not his own life.   
  
"The night before my initiation into the Death Eaters my mother came into my room with Edmund, he was _her_ house-elf before he was mine, in-tow carrying a tray of tea. I assumed that from her room she had felt my nervous excitement at finally having the opportunity to follow so graciously in Father's footsteps. We sat and drank Earl Grey tea," he paused, a tiny mirthless laugh escaping him. "I don't know why I remember that so clearly.  
  
"She immediately began asking me trivial questions-Are you nervous? How's the weather? Want more tea?-and I responded with equally trivial answers -Not really. Too warm. Yes, please."  
  
"And I _did_ drink my fill of tea not knowing how much until everything started growing fuzzy. My arms and legs felt so limp and then I fell to the floor, my rug preventing me from harming myself. Then _he_ walked in."  
  
"Who's he?"   
  
"A close friend of Father's, you would know him better as Professor. Professor Severus Snape to be exact," he paused, running another hand through his hair. "Has anyone ever done anything that even though you know it's the right thing you still refuse to agree with it?"  
  
"I'm not sure," she answered, reclining on the palms of her hands.   
  
"Well, the next thing I remember I was chained by my wrists to a wall in a bamboo hut in the middle of a tiny village in Japan. After hours of yelling my bloody head off and threatening any poor villager that came within feet of my door, Mother walked in, carrying _my_ wand. I remember her eyes and her smile so well, as if finding me there was the worst and most wonderful thing in the world, my dark wand partnered in her hand next to her light one. _'This is for your own good my son,'_ she had told me, kissing the top of my head-"  
  
"I don't understand?" Ginny asked, disrupting Draco's story. Why would his mother bring him to Japan the day before his initiation? Why would she chain him to a wall?  
  
"I wouldn't expect you to. Mother is a very complex person, Ginny, who I don't think will ever be fully understood," he chuckled, looking over to her. Ginny could see his mind was somewhere else on another fonder memory.  
  
"At the time I hadn't a clue as to what she was speaking of nor did I care. I hated her for bringing me there, taking me away from Father, from my life's goal when I had come so close to achieving it.   
  
"Every day, I was pulled from my hut and, under the watchful- if not disgustingly _benign-_eye of my captors, was given the chance to exercise, bathe, and clothe myself with fresh garments that Mother had brought with us. But never was I allowed a wand or anything magical at all to be near me.  
  
"On the off chance that I would actually see Mother, laughing while she walked in company with the other villagers, I would shout horrible things and spit at her. I don't think I can ever forgive myself for causing that pained look on her face but every time she'd smile or told me she loved me I was compelled to hurt her."   
  
"Is that where your time was spent during the war? Is that when you changed?" Ginny asked, interrupting Draco again. He turned on her, his face showing his dislike in her constant impatience.   
  
"Weasley?" he asked, his voice as usual void of emotion. "Do you ever let anyone finish a complete thought before you decide to open that trap of yours?"   
  
"Sorry," Ginny answered, actually feeling apologetic. She knew she had the bad habit of being impatient and had been chided for it many times.  
  
"No reason to be sorry, Weasley, it was a yes or no question? Not a reason for an apology but you would do well to remember that the more you interrupt, the longer it will take for someone to give you their answer."  
  
"Now, it takes a lot of pressure for bamboo-real bamboo- to break you know, but by the fourth month I had sawed two of the bamboo-bars of my prison and began work on the third. When I had sawed through four of them with my shoelace, I broke from my cell and ran from the village."  
  
"Wand-less, Knut-less, nothing covering me but the pajama's and slippers I wore to bed, I made my way back home, something I assume broke Mother's heart. To my horror and disappointment when I finally found a helpful wizard, who helped me reach jolly-old England, the war was over."  
  
"There was no Dark Lord, no great Master to serve, no noble Cause to fight for. There were no battles to be won or lost. My friends, if you could call them that, were either dead or in hiding, eventually being flushed out by your Potter and his group of warriors. There was nothing left for me, but my inheritance, my Manor, and the stupid business of where to put my insane fath-" he hesitated. "And the dealings with where Father should live out his days."   
  
"But wouldn't you hate your mother for that, Draco?" she asked, hoping he could give her a clearer insight into the way that Slytherin mind of his worked.   
  
"Trust that I did. I hated her with every fiber of my being for. .. almost a whole month. Thinking of what she made me lose, not letting me fight beside Father, and die the way I should have."   
  
"But one night, I lay in my bed at the Manor, the sounds of it trying to consume me. Actually, the sounds didn't bother me, but it was the lack there of. And it got me thinking about Mother, wishing she was there with me, to listen to my rants about Father and that imbecile Fudge, giving her the opportunity to explain herself and I myself, understanding her reasons for abducting me not letting me fulfill my destiny."  
  
He paused for a moment, just staring through the darkness and into the sand dunes around them.   
  
"After I brought her back, things were different between us. She was so much more distant. I don't know if she'd ever admit it, but I think she missed Father, or maybe she just missed company in general. I'll never know."   
  
His hair was tinted by the moonlight and momentarily stood up before slowly falling into place as he ran another hand through it, letting his fingers tug at the shorter strands."When I really, began thinking about it, putting the pieces together it made me realize that if she had left me here, if she had allowed my Father to brand me like he was himself. I would have fought against the Ministry, against Hogwarts, and I would have died too or worse sent to prison."  
  
"She saved my life. My mother did, in more ways than the physical. She sacrificed a lot for me and to that I will forever be indebted to her."  
  
"Wow," Ginny said, in awe. She had never heard Draco talk like this before. She never thought she would hear him admit being indebted to someone for other reasons than that of the material. It made her heart swell to know that even the most arrogant-git on the face of the Earth could feel a love, a pull, so strong that it made him overcome the unforgivable sins he thought she had made.   
  
"Now you know why it's so important for us to find this map," he said, not turning away from her but his eyes changed to a darker shade of gray. "And you best not tell anyone or Granger won't be the only person having trouble with her memory. Understood?"  
  
"Yes, sir," Ginny answered mockingly. She had never been one to like being threatened and she was not going to let Draco think he could. "No one will ever know that Draco Malfoy is nothing more than a little-boy who is unnaturally attached to his Mum."  
  
Draco's pale eyes narrowed on hers, his mouth dropping into a scowl demonstrating his great dislike of her joshing.  
  
"You take me entirely too seriously, Malfoy," Ginny said, moving the lantern from between them and closer to the tent, the loss of light making it easier for her to speak to him in such a manner. "I'm just trying to lighten you up."  
  
"Well, when I'm being open about my angst filled life, Weasley, I would expect you to at least have the decency to show an ounce of respect," he replied his voice more lax than it had been minutes before. "Someone should very well teach you manners."  
  
At his last comment Ginny felt her mouth fall into a perfect O. Who was Draco Malfoy to tell her she needed lessons in etiquette? He'd never even heard of the word polite. "Teach _me_ manners? Like who?" she scoffed.   
  
"I suppose I could teach you," he airily baited. "Since, it seems I've taught you so many other things."   
  
"Exactly what have you taught me, Malfoy?"  
  
"I've taught you plenty, Weasley," he said, reclining back on the palms of his hands, stretching his legs-out beside hers the moonlight making his dark-gray trousers seem black.  
  
"Really? I would love to know when and where I was when this enlightenment happened," she replied, leaning into him, trying to see the angles of his face better in the fading firelight.  
  
"October thirty-first, on the outdoor terrace, at the _'Weasley's Annual Charity Masquerade Ball.'_ If you need to ask what lesson it was maybe, you should retake the class," he said, shifting his face into a position that the moonlight caught his hair as the firelight turned his usually fair complexion golden. His body hadn't moved, but Ginny thought he felt a great deal closer.   
  
"I remember quite well thank-you very much," she said, reclining away from him into the hard wall of the tent. "My tutor wasn't exactly an expert on the subject."  
  
"Shall he give another demonstration?" he asked. Ginny could smell him and she briefly wondered when they had gotten so close, but she didn't care.   
  
She felt her stomach tightening as his face moved closer to her own, his dark gray-eyes focusing on her lips. She closed her eyes waiting for the fantastic feel of when his mouth would meet her own. But the only thing that met her face was the feel of a sudden light breeze on her cheeks and the few flyaways from her ponytail batting at her forehead.   
  
  
She slowly opened her eyes to find Draco sitting back on the palms of his hands, his bare feet crossed at the ankles, a mocking smile twisting his handsome face.  
  
"I can't believe you actually fell for that one Weasley," he snickered, the mirthless laugh not reaching his eyes but Ginny couldn't see that. She could only see the twisted smile he wore, the way his white-hair didn't muss in the breeze, the way the desert heat that seemed to suppress everyone else, didn't bother or even make him sweat.  
  
"You're such a bastard!" she whispered ferociously, the sand on her pajamas flying onto him as she stood.  
  
"Come now, Ginny, hasn't that insult gotten old yet," he replied, grabbing her by her wrist.   
  
"You made up everything didn't you? About remembering those /distracting/ kisses we shared? I would even bet that whole story about your Mum too?" she accused, trying to pry his fingers from her wrist.   
  
"Still angry about that distraction comment I see," he teased and Ginny wondered what look she gave him to have him sober so quickly.  
  
"Look Weasley, I didn't lie about my mother or anything else for that matter."   
  
"Yes, I'm sure you've _never_ lied to me."   
  
"Oh," he replied as if he'd just figured a difficult potion, "This has nothing to do with trust at all, does it Weasley?"   
  
Not understanding him, Ginny didn't answer.   
  
"You're just angry at yourself for being so easily toyed with. You're like an instrument Weasley, tap the right key, pull the right string and you're ready to pummel someone. You should really learn some self-control."   
  
"Why? So I can be a cold-unfeeling dead fish like _you_?" she hissed, casting him into shadow as she bent at the waist to level her face with his.   
  
His only response was a smirk and Ginny felt the fingers wrapped around her wrist tighten as he pulled her onto him and in one fluid movement Ginny found her back meeting the soft blanket he'd been sitting on, the warmth from the sand reaching her through the thick material.   
  
"Like I said Weasley, you should really learn to control yourself."   
  
His lips fell on hers and Ginny refused to give him access to the rest of her mouth; even with the distraction of his tongue sliding along her lips demanding entrance and his clever hand moving under her pajama top to lift her closer to him.   
  
She listened to his defeated groan as he removed his welcomed hand, gliding it across the expanse of her back until she fell back onto the blanket.   
  
"What's wrong Ginny?" he asked, looking down at her. He was hovering above her, supported on the weight of both his hands. One side of his face was thrown into shadow leaving her with only one of his gray-eyes to discern his temper.  
  
"You," she answered, pushing her hands against his chest to remove him from her, but the effect that his sinewy muscles had against the palm of her hands made her instantly regret touching him at all.  
  
"I'm the problem?" he asked, appalled. Ginny couldn't see but she assumed that the pale brow he had cast in darkness was arched. "How am _I_ the problem. _You're_ the one who won't open her bloody mouth when someone _actually_ wants her to."  
  
"Because." She tried to roll from beneath him but he had her caged with both his arms on the side of her head, his lower body resting on his knees straddling her hips.   
  
"Because why?" he asked, impatiently.   
  
"Well, if you'd give me some room to breathe I'd answer you," she snapped back, successfully pushing him away from her. Ginny watched Draco sit back on his heels as she crawled backwards, her palms digging into the blanket and sand that lay underneath, only stopping when her back met the solid wall of a tent and she slid up the hard surface until she and him sat almost eye to eye.   
  
"You're breathing, now answer," he ordered.   
  
"Because, you can be so charming and wonderful and compassionate sometimes. Giving a beautiful speech about how it's so important to help your mother only to turn around and be a complete pig about everything."  
  
Ginny could see him studying her, his visible eye roving across her face.   
  
"I'm sorry you couldn't see the humor in our little banter, Weasley. I thought of all people, or at least the way you claimed to have been dragged up, that you would have enjoyed our little blunt jesting sessions. I've been proven wrong, but don't worry; I assure you it won't happen again."   
  
Ginny sighed. Why didn't he ever understand what she was trying to say? Why did he have to become so unreasonable? It was either black or white, one or the other, and if she didn't choose correctly he'd wrapped his invisible blanket around him, locking her out completely.  
  
"Draco don't be that way," she begged, leaning forward hoping he would recline, but he didn't and their noses were inches apart. She could see his face perfectly now, feel his warm breath tickle her chin and neck.  
  
"Don't assume you can tell me what way to be Weasley," he seethed, narrowing his eyes at her, but Ginny could see his lips twisting as if he were trying to fight against the question trying to escape. "Which way do you think I'm being anyway?" he asked, more demanding the answer from her in his whisper.   
  
"The bratty little cynic, you tend to become when you don't get exactly what you want the second you want it. The world was not built to please Draco Malfoy's every whim." She smiled hoping that her playful tone would pry open his small reserve of amusement.   
  
  
"Well, it should have been," he answered, matter-of-factly, pouting his bottom lip, "I honestly believe it would be a much better place to live."   
  
"Besides being Harry and Ron-less exactly how would the world be improved Mister Malfoy?" she asked, wanting to hold onto his lightened mood.   
  
He slyly grinned at her and Ginny couldn't hear his reasons as he named them off. Her attention had been stolen by his lips. The way they formed his words, giving small glances at his teeth hidden behind. The bottom row had grown in a little close, but his top row were perfectly even with the exception of his canines that she knew were too sharp.   
  
_'Are you even listening to me Weasley'_- she watched his lips form. She loved the way his mouth shaped her surname, the tip of his tongue touching his top lip when he pronounced the _-ley_.   
  
Ginny ignored him and moved the small amount of space between them, closing her lips on his. They were soft and willing against her own, as if he'd expected it all along. They opened easily to her and Ginny felt the change in pressure as he began taking control. His mouth, pushing into hers as his hands began slipping under her top, using his fingernails to tickle the skin of her stomach enticing that pleasant feeling of electricity under his touch.   
  
Touching him was like a drug to her. She was addicted to the tremors her body suffered under his fingers as they lazily traced the skin of her hips and stomach. She loved the way his lips moved over her, kissing and nipping her ear and neck. The bright flames that had barely illuminated them before stained his hair shades warmer as she brushed the strands, reveling in the silky feel of them between her fingers and the smell of him that wafted off them.   
  
She purred as he lifted her from her seat settling her on his lap, her legs instinctively looping his waist. Sitting, her lips and his were so much closer, she didn't have to cramp her toes and he didn't have to creek his neck. They were equals. They matched. With that floating around in her mind Ginny found kissing Draco was much simpler. She let his lips wander over the skin of her throat as his hands ascended the skin of her back.  
  
Proving his growing knowledge of her body, he dragged his ring up her spine, the cold feel of the baguette making her shiver against him as he kissed her. Besides Colin she had never been this intimately close to a man before and she wondered if they were supposed to groan the way Draco did when she shifted her hips.   
  
She listened to the metallic sound of him biting and dragging the golden chain of her necklace away from her skin. He'd never done that before, but she reasoned she hadn't been wearing it during their previous encounters.   
  
Memories of when his hands were rough and the thing he'd accused her of before began fighting against the soft feel of his fingers, the taste of his mouth, and the burning inside her. Ginny reluctantly began pulling away from his prying lips, "You said I was a distraction," she croaked.  
  
"You said I was a bastard on numerous occasions," he replied, matter-of-factly. "I forgave you."   
  
"You are," she panted trying to push him down. "I'm not. People aren't distractions, Draco- dogs barking, Colin talking your ear off, stupid Crypt Keeper Five songs getting stuck in your head-those are distractions. Not people."  
  
"Fine, you're not a distraction," he mumbled against her neck, kissing the neglected skin between her chin and throat.  
  
"No, Draco. You're not going to make me forget by-" Ginny's train of thought began dissolving as Draco tugged on the skin of her earlobe.   
  
"No, I was right Weasley," he drawled against her ear. "You _are_ a distraction."  
  
At his teasing words Ginny's resolve flew back into her body with the force of a Bludger. She reluctantly pulled away from him, "But a distraction from what?"  
  
He only gazed up at her from his position beneath her, refusing to answer her question. His silences were disturbing, they could range from unspoken anger to mute ease and his avoidance of her question implied more dubious things to Ginny than she was willing to carry.   
  
"What are we?" she asked. "I mean-"  
  
"I know what you mean," he interrupted, his voice void of teasing or emotion.  
  
"Then answer the question," she demanded.   
  
He sighed, his eyes moving away from hers as he stared up into nothingness. "Why do you feel you must be categorized?" he asked, startling her.  
  
Staring down at his face, Ginny contemplated her response. She'd never thought of herself as one to be labeled. Even as a Gryffindor, she never followed the formula to the tee. "I don't," she answered. "You're just avoiding my question."  
  
"If you need an answer I'll give you one but I assure you. You won't like it."  
  
"The facts are as shown Ginny: I'm a Malfoy. You're a Weasley. I'm an employer. You're my employee. I pay you for the services you render. You do your job well. Our relationship- if one would call it such- is strictly business."  
  
Ginny felt her stomach surge at his words. She'd tried to prepare herself for harm when she'd felt the first signs of Draco worming into her heart. She'd tried to ignore his purposeless innuendos the day she'd healed his sunburn. She'd tried to shield herself from the fluster she felt at his rant in the alley outside Quality Quidditch Supplies. She tried to forget the way his lips and the softness of his hands burned her.   
  
Watching the color drain from her face, Draco half-regretted what he'd said. He feared the nails and teeth, the fists and knees, that he knew she had no qualms to use on him. She bent over him, resting her weight on her palms and from their bodies' positions had her brother came out he would have certainly gotten the wrong idea but from the look she wore Draco knew that her intentions were anything but wanton.   
  
"Then stay away from me," she hissed, lowering her face to mere inches of his. "If I'm nothing more than a _Weasley_ than your underling then you should have no problem staying far away from me."  
  
Feeling his face growing hot from Ginny's boldness, Draco lowered his eyelids until he could barely see Ginny through his lashes. How dare this girl presume that she had the right to say who he could and could not be around? "I don't have you tied down do I?" he replied, skimming down to the point their bodies touched.   
  
Backwards Ginny crawled off him, painfully using his stomach as a brace to lift herself off the ground. She snatched her wand from the sand and walked away from him, hooking the top buttons of her pajama shirt, only turning back to face him when she released the wards from her tent and surrendered into the netted flaps.  
  
Draco sat up, resting his elbows on his knees. He had the distinct feeling that something was ruined, that something he'd worked for and was so close to possessing, was gone. But he'd had nothing invested in Ginny Weasley. He'd had nothing to gain or lose when things involved her; he was confident she wasn't going to abandon his mother but yet he still felt stung at her words.  
  
He felt angry that she thought they should be of greater importance than his mother. They weren't. She wasn't. She was just a girl, just another of that brood of Weasleys so why did he feel so strange about their row? Why was he uncomfortable with having her leave angry with him? Why had she left angry with him, anyway? He only told her the truth. She was a Weasley. He was a Malfoy. She worked for him and he paid her. That was the only truth she needed to know.  
  
There was no need for her to know that he enjoyed her mind, her strange humor, her compassion. That he'd been with women before but none could make his body respond the way hers did at the touch of her skin or the scent of her neck. She didn't need to know that if this were another time, or another place, if they were different people under different circumstances, that things would be different. But they weren't different and she would have to deal with the hand he dealt her. There were no other choices.   
  
Draco lay back on the blanket staring up at the few stars that still shined against the dawning sky. He'd put all this in the back of his mind, among the filing cabinets and the folders, because today was too important to have his opinions of Ginny Weasley distracting him.  
  
TBC....  
  
A/N: I could apologize a thousand times but it would still be the same: I'm so sorry I haven't updated in so long, but this was a pariticularly hard chapter to write and quite long, but there is hope (at least I think there is) that the next one won't take as long, since I do have atleast 1/4 of it already written.   
  
Anyway I have to credit Crypt Keeper Five to the song Monster Mash.   
  
If you have any questions, complaints, or if you want updates- just drop me an email with your address or just leave it in your review.   
  
  
FF.net Thanks:   
  
infilitrate the enemy fat kid- (still cool as pen) I'm happy you're enjoying the story, and I hope I didn't disappoint with this chapter.  
  
"I'm still not quite sure why you don't have hundreads of review by now. Your story is highly addictive!"  
I assume people just don't like it but I don't worry over the quantity of the reviews but the quality. (wink) Thanks for the review.   
  
letlyf- Sorry for the delayed update but y'know real life gets in the way. I hope you liked this chapter as much as the others. You got both fighting/snogging and snogging/fighting. Yes, Blaise is rather moving slowly but he's got his role to fill and I agree the plot did standstill last chapter, but I hope I got it up and moving again. I love Colin too, Gay or Not, I still crush/love him. I'm happy you didn't find Ron to OOC, it's always a big fear of mine when attempting to write the trio especially from their POV. Anyhow, thanks for reading and reviewing. I can't wait to get your thoughts on this one.   
  
AnniBug- Yeah the Prices like the Weasleys happen to be red of hair. I totally agree about Hermione and Ginny both have such strong personalties only made stronger by each's need to be right. Thanks for reading and I apologize for not having reviewed "I Feel Your Pain". I haven't finished reading it and I like to give thought out reviews and like my writing it takes me awhile.   
  
Sabacat-Thanks so much, I'm glad you enjoyed the Ron/Pansy scene in the last chapter and hope you like this one too.   
  
Grumpy1- Thanks for your review. Yeah, I couldn't heap anymore angst on them last chapter after everything I had planned in this and future chapters. (smiles evilly) Thanks.   
  
Lorraine7- I'm glad you loved it, and liked Pansy's affection for her child. I don't really see Pansy as the openly loving type, but her daughter would be the exception. She loves Rosemary as much as she can love anything. Anyhow, thanks for the review and I hope to read from you again.   
  
AnImEfReAk81- Thanks, I'm glad you find my story interesting and I can wait to read what your thoughts on this chapter might be.   
  
TarynMalfoy88- Thank you, I hope I didn't disappoint.   
  
Danielle- You're always so consistent with your reviews. Thanks a lot for the compliments and I hope to keep it up too. I do hope you enjoyed the D/G goodness in this chapter it "might" be their only for a while or at least until they make up. (wink)  
  
Jazz- Thank you, I hope you got my e-mail and that you enjoy the new chapter.   
  
Evon- Last but certainly not least- Thanks for the review, I'm very happy you think I'm Tony the Tiger GrrrrrrrrEAT! I'm sorry your internet went down, sometimes computers just suck.   
  
  



	12. Went to Egypt and All I Got was this Tsh

I apologize to anyone who was following this story for the _long_ wait, but sometimes real life can get in the way. I'm not making any promises, but I can gurantee that the next two chapters are running quite smoothly.

Warning: As of the moment this chapter is unBeta'd, but I do promise that it will be in the near future. But as of now, it is not up to par with the writing of the previous three chapters, so if you want to wait for the polished version, don't worry it will be uploaded in the next week.Chapter 11: I Went to Egypt and All I Got was This Stupid T-shirtBenjamin Brown wasn't a very happy fellow as he strode down the lengthy hall to the small office he'd worked in for the last four years. He'd just come from a well-earned two-week holiday with his wife and son and the thought of returning to work raised his blood pressure to dangerous levels. But hardly anyone could blame him for being unhappy as Mister Brown was one of the few people desperate enough to be a Prison Governor at Azkaban Prison.  
  
His day didn't appear to promise anything brighter as he approached the pine desk and Tyson Arnold, the lanky young-man reclined in the tiny swivel chair using his _boss's_ desk as a foot stool.  
  
"Guess whose autograph I have?" Arnold asked, in way of a morning greeting, a wide grin gracing his thin face.  
  
"Whose, Viktor Krum's? Don't be so proud that Bulgarian-git will give it to anyone who stands still long enough for him to brand 'em," he answered, moving swiftly around his desk and confiscating his swivel chair from the bag of bones.  
  
"No," he answered and the horsey smile threatening to overcome his face grew wider. "Better than that."  
  
Aggravated with his co-worker's big toothed optimism Bennie snapped, "I give up. Who?"  
  
"Harry Potter," he answered, the childish glow ignoring his upper's temperament, and holding firm.  
  
Prison Governor Brown couldn't stop the snort of astonishment from his pug-nose. "You're a rotten liar. You know that. Everyone knows he don't give his signature to nobody."  
  
"Well, he gave it to _me_," said the little sandy-haired bastard, matter-of-factly.  
  
"When?"  
  
"Day before yesterday," Tyson answered, idly playing with his rusted ring of skeleton keys.  
  
"Is that so?" he asked, wheeling his chair backwards to a clipboard chart that hung from a green tack in the wall and quickly sliding a pudgy finger down the list of names and dates. "Schedule says you were working that day. Where'd you meet him? On your lunch break?"  
  
"Nope, right here," the Deputy answered, tapping a bony finger on the desk.  
  
"Now, I know you're lying. Harry Potter's never stepped foot on Azkaban soil. My kid brother was a coupla' years ahead of him at Hogwarts, says he can't take the dementors or something. But I don't believe that _and_ I don't believe you."  
  
"I'll prove it!" Arnold said, his voice raising an octave. It was clear he was angry at his boss's blatant disbelief but too afraid to voice it.  
  
"How?"  
  
"Check the sign-in sheet."  
  
Governor Bennie aggravated with his Deputy's obvious procrastination or even more obvious attempts at humor plucked the wooden clipboard from its slot. Not many people came to Azkaban for visits and finding the date was simple as was the signature of the one visitor that day.  
  
There it was: _Harry Potter._  
  
Normally, Bennie would have claimed it was a forgery but that signature had to be Potter's. The Minister himself went over the list weekly and Deputy Tyson Arnold wouldn't have risked his job for a practical joke. But there was something missing.  
  
"Where's his Apparation License?"  
  
Tyson looked very young and nervous as he scratched his unkempt hair. "Sorry, Governor but I didn't ask him for one or search him either. I mean he's Harry Potter for Merlin's sake. I could barely breathe much less ask to frisk him."  
  
Ordinarily Warden Benjamin "Bennie" Brown would have been outraged at his worker's incompetence but it was Harry Potter and he couldn't help but agree that he'd have probably done the same.Miss Fleur Delacour, soon to be Mrs. William Weasley awoke to the warm embrace of her future husband's arms and the squawking of a very annoyed bird. Rolling over, she near screamed at the sight that met her eyes. A brown and white falcon had perched himself on the headboard of her sleigh bed, wagging an envelope tied to his bony leg like a blue flag.  
  
"Horus?" her fiancé asked, releasing her to lift the fatigued animal. "What are you doing here?"  
  
"You recognize 'dis bird?" she asked.  
  
"Yes," he answered, untying the letter from its leg. "He belongs to a friend of mine in Egypt."  
  
Remembering Bill's reputation before her Fleur felt a pang of jealousy stab at her ego. "A friend?" she asked, failing to sound unaffected.  
  
"You remember Samir," he answered, soothing her jealousy. "He was at our engagement party, he owns a few hotels in Luxor now... But I can't imagine why he'd be writing me."  
  
His crystal-eyes moved over the blue paper in his hand, his cheerful smile instantly falling away. Worried, she sat silently on the bed watching his usually light-hearted manner replace itself with a mix of anxiety and anger as he slowly folded the letter and slipped it back into its envelope.  
  
Unable to take the tension-filled silence Fleur cleared her throat. "What is that letter about?" she asked.  
  
But he ignored her, crawling out of the bed instead. "Sorry to cut this trip short love, but I have to leave for London immediately."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"I have to see Percy," he explained, popping his long freckled arms out the short sleeves of his black t-shirt.  
  
"And when will you be back?" she asked, her temper beginning to rise at the thought of her fiancé leaving her in bed to visit his stuffy young _frère_.  
  
"Don't be cross," he said fastening the buckle of his belt. "I'll be back to you by the end of the week if not sooner," he promised, bending down and kissing her soundly on the lips before popping out of the room. 

Ron enjoyed the cloudy morning as he ate his breakfast aside his silent companions. There was an anxiety that had settled over the meal that he could only compare to the quiet time before a Quidditch match, especially matches against the team of the boy who sat across from him.  
  
Malfoy had pushed away his breakfast opting for parchment and the blue-prints Hermione had loaned him, occasionally handing his notes and quill to Pansy, wordlessly ordering her to interpret something for him. His slate-eyes followed his slow moving quill as he took another note but would occasionally glance at the tomb that lay in the distance but always settled back on his papers with a sneer. He was awfully sullen and short tempered for a man who thought he was about to retrieve some priceless magical artifact, even if Ron and Harry knew better. Ron was confident their plan was going to work, and in forty-eight hours Malfoy would be rotting behind bars, a place he should have been sentenced to long before.  
  
Despite the unpleasant taste of his own meal Ron couldn't suppress a grin at the image in his mind. He, Harry, Hermione, and the rest of the wizarding world would finally be rid of them, the whole Malfoy lot. In forty-eight hours life would be good.  
  
"So what time are we going?" Pansy asked. Her breakfast no more than a small pile of brown crumbs and paper. "In the tomb I mean?"  
  
"As soon as Malfoy finishes with Bill's map. He's trying to hatch some great plan," Ron explained, looking down into his cup of juice. He hadn't been able to quite look Pansy in the eye after yesterday evening's incident. It had just been her bare back he'd seen but she had been nude none-the-less.  
  
"Yes, because flying by the seat of our trousers is an excellent approach," said Malfoy, standing from the table. He threw his breakfast in the paper bag Hermione had designated as the rubbish bin, before marching off in the direction of his tent.  
  
"That's right Malfoy abuse the baked goods," Pansy called after him as he shoved the canvas-flap shut. Her crystal eyes moved across the table to Ron again. "So, we have to wait for one of his brilliant plans."  
  
"It appears so," Hermione offered.  
  
"Great, that could take days," Ginny said. Her words being the first Ron had heard from her the entire morning. Earlier, she had seemed rather stoic grabbing her small prepackaged meal from the basket but Ron had chucked it up to Ginny being Ginny.  
  
"I'm finished," Malfoy announced, letting the green flaps fall shut as he emerged from his tent Bill's blueprints in his fist. He didn't seem to register Ginny's presence as he slid into the seat opposite hers.  
  
"What's the plan Malfoy?" Harry asked.  
  
The blonde parted the scroll on the wooden table, using the breakfasters' cups to hold down the curling corners.  
  
"We'll of course enter the building from the front, because from what I've read there's only one way in and one way out, but I also must note that this map's not completely accurate-"  
  
"So my brother's map isn't good enough for you either?" Ginny questioned.  
  
Malfoy was silent, frowning down at his neatly written notes and rolled print. "No Weasley," he said evenly. "Unlike most things you've given me your brother's map was _actually_ useful for something."  
  
Everyone sat quietly as Malfoy delivered his lay-out of intrusion and extraction. He used his dark wand to direct their eyes as he resolved the obvious flaws of the map the false walls, the cloaked doors, and the secret passages that he believed were intentionally foregone. He'd been unable to confirm the location of the Altar Room but was confident that it existed and would indeed be found behind one of the many cloaked doors. If it had been anyone other than Malfoy, Ron might have been impressed.  
  
"So that's it. That's the plan?" the broad Auror asked.  
  
"Yes, and as you can see its fool proof," Malfoy answered, confidently.  
  
"Or so one would think," said Ginny sarcastically.  
  
"Well, we needn't worry about you doing any of that," the blonde shot back, demonstrating the early signs of a sneer and rolling-up the blueprints.  
  
Ron and the whole of the table fell quiet as Malfoy and Ginny glared at one another. Their eyes and mouths were locked in a zealous battle of glowers and barbs that appeared to only concern the two of them.  
  
Instinct told Ron to pounce. Growing up he'd rarely let Ginny fight her own fights but she'd dug herself into this with Malfoy and it was time she started taking responsibility for her rashness so he just watched as she surrendered the battle and stood to stalk off to her own tent.  
  
He didn't understand why but he felt a shiver of suspicion pass over him. Something indeed was happening between his sister and the Ferret. But what it was he did not know.  
  
Sighing, Ron ended the tense silence, "We'll I'm the Auror here. So I say dress, lock your things, bar your tents, and we'll meet back here in ten," he ordered.  
  
"Ten, what?" Pansy asked her head tilted in confusion.  
  
"Minutes, Pansy," he answered, crumbling his own wrapper.

Draco admired his reflection, taking in the fine blonde hair that had adorned his head since before he could remember, the long nose that had taken him entirely too long to grow into, the angular chin he inherited from his mother, and last he stared into the translucently pale eyes that were undeniably his father's. He couldn't help but agree with his sire, the Malfoys were an attractive clan.  
  
At the sound of crumbling plastic, he didn't move from the mirror but flicked his eyes to the opening flaps behind him. Expecting Pansy, Draco was surprised to see the girl that quietly closed the door behind him. Standing just inside his tent was Ginny Weasley.  
  
They watched one another. There was so much unspoken hate, unresolved words, and some other thing that lingered between them. But he refused to give it a name, choosing to ignore it. He didn't swallow it or compartmentalize it to study later. He simply ignored it, turning to face her.  
  
As always she was dressed modestly, the only hint of eccentricity found in the obnoxious color of her t-shirt. She was holding something long and wrapped tightly in the remnants of a burlap sack in her hands.  
  
The dark circles beneath her eyes that he'd noticed at breakfast proved to him that like himself she hadn't returned to sleep after their row either. Those hooded eyes quickly moved to his slightly exposed chest and he felt his mood lighten at the blush that raced to her cheeks. He merely smiled to himself, leaning onto the base of his sink. Normally he would have already buttoned his shirt out of propriety but watching her face flush was too much fun to abide to the rules of etiquette.  
  
"So this is what staying the hell away from you looks like. I'll have to keep that in mind," he said, slowly fastening his brown buttons.  
  
"Don't flatter yourself, Malfoy," she spat back with the same venom she'd held at breakfast but Draco could hear the quiver in her voice. She was trying to cast a shadow of coldness over him but it wasn't working...that well.  
  
"I would never," he answered smugly.  
  
"I didn't come in here to have a chat, I came because I have something you need," she continued as if he hadn't spoken.  
  
"Aren't we overly confident," he replied, growing angry at her dismissal of him.  
  
"Stop it, Malfoy! I came in here to give you this." Not moving any further into the room she thrust the wrapped thing at him.  
  
He sighed, pushing himself off his basin and seized the object from her hands. It was heavier than he'd had expected and he nearly dropped it before pealing away the folds of brown fabric.  
  
He couldn't believe his eyes as he looked upon the weapon. The book's illustration had not done its subject justice from its mirror-shine blade to its bejeweled hilt; it was a beautiful piece of weaponry.  
  
Surprised he looked up at her, _How had she known he would need it?_  
  
As if reading his mind Ginny answered him, "Pansy said it was required."  
  
He couldn't believe she'd actually stolen it from the Ministry of Magic. If she were to be caught with it, it would surely be her job if not more. "Where did you find this?" he asked, confident in knowing her answer but wanting to hear it from her own lips.  
  
"That isn't important," she answered curtly. Stepping backward from the dagger and himself she moved to the open entrance. The air in the room had grown so silent, Draco almost jumped at Ginny's abrupt exit, "I'm needed outside."  
  
"Of course," he replied.

The tomb was more than the mere crypts and pyramids she'd visited on her previous holidays. It oozed a more regal aura, like the magic it held inside was seeping through the sandstone bricks. The lion head rain spouts stared down from their stucco perches dry and agape.  
  
Ginny hated the heat that oppressed everything around her, and she couldn't wait to be inside the tomb they were slowly approaching. She still had memories of when they had traveled to Egypt before, and she could remember the cool if not stuffy air that the pyramids and tombs held deep inside them.  
  
But as far as her memory went none of those tombs had large signs outside them that read: _Welcome visitors to the Aker Museum_ in four different languages. "Do we just walk in?" Harry asked. "No we just stand out here looking like daft fools," Draco mumbled. "I suppose so," Ron said. Ginny assumed he hadn't heard the blonde because it wasn't possible that Ron would willingly ignore him.  
  
They all moved forward as a group, Ginny stood near the end. She was no longer the driving forward initiative type and the nervous cramps that racked her stomach were a sign that now was not the time to start again.  
  
They were on the temples last set of stairs when they were approached by a floating being, clad in antique British Royal Army fatigues.  
  
Before anyone could introduce themselves he quieted them with a translucent hand. When he spoke, he had a bored drumming voice, "Welcome to the Aker Museum. We are sorry to inconvenience you but unfortunately we are closed for the season due to reconstruction. Please do come back soon."  
  
"Sorry," Ron apologized, pausing to read the officers name tag. "Mister Hollingsworth. But we're not tourists. I'm here as an Auror, investigating a case on missing artifacts."  
  
A smile of mock pity nearly curled the officer's face. It was obvious to all he doubted Ron's honor. "May I see some identification sir?"  
  
Ron pulled from his back pocket his Auror's ID and his Apparation license. The ghost's gray-blue eyes roved over the two plastic cards as he read them before he straightened and looked back over the small crowd a clear look of annoyance on his rugged features.  
  
"I'm to believe that all of you are identification toting Auror's__ also."  
  
Ron turned back to them, his crystal-eyes searching Harry and Hermione for an answer. "Umm...." he began.  
  
Sympathy for her brother stabbed at Ginny's heart but not as painfully as Pansy's elbow digging into her side. Ready to snap, Ginny turned in her direction but was more than surprised to see that she was only loosening another white-button on her blue shirt as she climbed a step to sidle-up next to Ron.  
  
"I'm sorry _Officer_ Hollingsworth," Pansy began in a honey-sweet voice Ginny had never heard her use before, "But our _Great Leader_ here can be a bit daft sometimes. It _seems_ he completely forgot to inform us to bring _any_ form of identification-"  
  
"All of you?" he asked doubtfully but Ginny could see he wasn't actually looking at Pansy's face when he spoke to her.  
  
"Yes, sir. We're so very sorry." Pansy answered, biting hard onto her bottom lip.  
  
"Sorry indeed," he said, casting a glare at Ron.  
  
"I understand such an attractive English Officer such as yourself must get tourists all the time asking for favor after favor, but for once could you just look the other way... I mean we won't be inside long and I can assure you we won't bother a thing."  
  
The officer stared back at Pansy, measuring her with his eyes and Ginny was almost impressed the way Pansy never wavered under his comprehending gaze. "I don't usually do this, but I'm letting you in and there are going to be very strict rules you must abide to."

Ron could barely see his hand much less the people around him. He could only discern where his companions were by the sounds of their voices which was hard because every sound they made echoed down the seemingly endless hall. The had walked deep into the tomb since parting from the security ghost and the headache inducing must of renovating supplies hadn't curtailed.  
  
"No magic!" Malfoy shouted, his voice revealing the outrage he felt. "How in the bloody hell does that lifeless sot expect us to get about without any magic…At all? And what was that he kept going on and on about? Catalysts and catastrophes it sounds like a load of rubbish if you ask Me."  
  
"Is he _ever_ going to shut his face?" Harry asked, from his left. Ron could hear by his slightly slurred words he was asking through clenched teeth.  
  
"Not likely, Potter," Pansy answered.  
  
She was walking ahead of him and Ron only knew this because every so often he would catch a whiff of her flowery shampoo. She had surprised him by how easily she'd persuaded the guard to let them in after she had gone up there.  
  
"How did you do that back there? With the guard I mean."  
  
"Simple, Weasley. I just gave him a peep of something he hasn't seen in a while. He might be as dead as a founder but he's still a man," she answered, matter-of-factly.  
  
The uncomfortably close drawling voice let Ron know that Malfoy was trailing less than a stride behind him.  
  
"Lovely to know that you'll sacrifice the little integrity you have left for nothing Pansy, but I would much rather hear how Weasley expects to navigate us through this bloody maze in the dark."  
  
"The guard said that there are both Muggle torches and lamps inside the hypostyle hall," Ron explained, trying to keep a hold on his patience with the crotchety git in his ear. He chanced a look behind him but there was nothing but black.  
  
"That's wonderful Weasel but-"  
  
"Oh shove this," Pansy exhaled, stopping so suddenly Ron clumsily ran into her, his face burying in her thick hair. _"Lumos."_  
  
Everything around them was suddenly alight with more than just the spell from Pansy's wand. It was a harsh shock to his vision and Ron stood still in an attempt to regain his composer.  
  
"What did you do?" he asked, squinting as he tried to take everything in.  
  
But the widow didn't have time to answer as the thumping sound of marching echoed down the dark hall. The foul cold air rushing passed them and the foreboding sound spread a rash of goose pimples over his arms. Something was happening, something bad was happening and this feeling caused Ron to instinctively turn for his sister but as he faced her something standing far behind her and Malfoy grabbed his attention.

The harsh yellow light from the temple's lamps burned Ginny's eyes. She had grown accustomed to the darkness of the tomb and had to squint against the sudden kindling to turn and follow her brother's pale eyes.  
  
She had to blink twice before realizing what she saw before her was real.  
  
Loose brown rags hung from their dried bodes, waving in the still air as they slowly inched towards them. Strings of black hair fell into their socket less eyes dropping from their glabrous heads and it was clear the mummies were less surprised to see her than Ginny was to see them.  
  
She hadn't been aware she was holding her breath and was grateful when she heard the first whistle of a spell zoom by her ear and felt something wrapping around her arm jolting her from her lethargy. "We're running Weasley?" Malfoy said in her ear over the casting of curses.  
  
"I can't," she argued, trying to wrestle her arm away from his grip as he dragged them backward down the hall counting his steps. "I have to help my brother!"  
  
"Have it your way then?!" he replied nonchalantly, but instead of obeying her wishes he shoved her harshly into the wall. She swore at him, bracing herself for impact but it never came.

"Hermione!"

She turned to find Ron, pointing to a stone doorway to their left. Years of friendship and fleeing together Hermione instantly understood and pushed Pansy into the lit room quickly following in after her. Reaching for the copper door Hermione held back a gasp as she was met with nothing but stone wall and hinges. She turned away from the useless threshold searching the glass-shelved walls and decorated displays for anything heavy enough to bar the empty doorway, magically or otherwise. Finding only empty canopic jars and useless ushebtis in the cultic equipment cases Hermione felt herself growing desperate and she shouted a few carpentry spells at the door hoping maybe it could mend itself but the stubborn stones stayed parted.  
  
Panic began to rise in her as Ron and Harry began retreating into the threshold, hexes flowing off their lips. She could see their bright eyes were searching for a way out and by her side Pansy was moving back from the door, her cheeks sucked into the sides of her face and head angled up as she studied the stone-frame.  
  
"What are you doing?" Hermione asked surprised to hear how shaky her voice had become.  
  
"Shut-up Granger, I'm trying to think," Pansy snapped, not taking her eyes off the stone.  
  
"Now's not the time to work miracles, Pansy," Ron yelled, poking his head in for a moment.  
  
"He's right," Hermione added, not striving to insult her but trying to get help in defending themselves. "Now arm yourself, we need to be ready when they come!"  
  
But Pansy ignored both her and Ron, walking up to the stone frame and tracing over the raised hieroglyphics that were engraved in the gray rock with her long fingers. Surprising Hermione, she began reciting the ancient stone words.  
  
_"Come forth door."_  
  
Hermione was almost impressed as she listened to her perfect pronunciation of each biliteral with the absences of vowels that Hermione herself had fallen victim to pronouncing.  
  
_"Do not cause injury to me."_  
  
Her terms began jumbling in Hermione's mind as Pansy's pace quickened. Hermione couldn't distinguish the words as the debutante's fingers trailed down each small character.  
  
_"They are safe. They are protected and guarded."_  
  
"_Weighers of heaven and earth in scales._"  
  
She was really going to save them. Hermione thought to herself desperately pulling Harry and Ron by their shirt collars away from the door. The same girl who couldn't pronounce 'precipitation' days before actually had a good idea.  
  
"_Guard until eternity._"  
  
At her last words, Hermione felt her breath catch painfully in her throat as the stones snapped into place leaving her staring at a solid dark wall, the rough feel of Ron and Harry's shirts numbing under her fingers.  
  
"Pansy?" she asked trying to keep her voice from quivering, hoping she had heard Pansy wrong. "Do you have any idea of what you just said? Of what you've just _done?_"  
  
"Well, I'm not sure really. Saved us I suppose," she answered, wiping the dust from her fingers on the short leg of the dark trousers she wore.  
  
"No." Hermione answered, studying the hieroglyphics again. Pansy turned on her, her blue-eyes searching Hermione's face for an answer. "You've locked us in here."  
  
"So."  
  
"Well in your words '_for all eternity,'_" Hermione shrieked.

Draco saw everything through the camouflaged door. It was like a brown linen haze that he could watch both his enemies and his escorts through. He felt a wave of relief as their company retreated and the dynasty old guards ran passed his line of vision and out of sight.  
  
"We've gone unnoticed," he whispered to his companion, but the tiny redhead remained quiet.  
  
Draco was suddenly aware that she hadn't said a single word since they'd stepped into the room. Not one declaration of saving her brother or insult of how he was a pantywaist for running.  
  
"Weasley," he whispered into the darkness of the room. He couldn't see passed his arm and he waved it into the general area he'd pushed her. His hand connected with nothing but the silent air and Draco felt his stomach drop.  
  
"Weasley this isn't funny," he hissed, moving blindly into the room and then his feet met air.

Curiously, Ron watched as Hermione and Pansy went over the different characters again. It had to have been the fourth time they had done it in the last half-hour. Their voices intertwined as they mumbled each word trying to open the stones again. It had never occurred to Ron to question where the wizarding world had learned to split stones but now it was quite obvious. Bill had always said that the Egyptians had been the greatest architects and as he watched Harry's unsuccessful Reductor curse bounce off the solid barricade, he couldn't help but think that his eldest brother was right. Their walls were _very_ well made.  
  
"Ha!" Hermione yelped, jumping away from the wall and pulling Ron from his thoughts. "We're not stuck!" she cried, hopping to the wall again, her fingers moving over the characters. "I misinterpreted Pansy's translation earlier. She didn't mean eternity but until the sun meets the stars or the stars meet the sun. It's a bit ruff around here." She circled the worn cartouche.  
  
"How did you muddle _for eternity_?" Harry asked, holding his wand-hand palm up. "And 'til _night meets day_?" he asked, holding up the other.  
  
Even in the firelight he could see Hermione blushing with embarrassment, "Well, I was quite frightened if not excited at the time and adrenalin _has_ been known to affect someone's judgment. I don't feel as if this moment's any different."  
  
"Best to hold onto that thought Granger," Pansy said. Her back was to Ron and her face was veiled by her hair but he had the distinct feeling she was smirking behind that curtain of chestnut-brown. "So we're stuck in this crypt 'till sunset, right?" she asked.  
  
"Yes," replied the smaller brunette, curtly. "We should only be barred in here for a maximum," she paused for a moment and Ron could see her doing the math. "Three hours- four at the most.  
  
"What about my sister? Will it be the same for her and Ferret-boy? Will they get out?" Ron asked his sister's safety had more than once crossed his mind since he'd discovered she and Malfoy were missing. Ginny's skill with a wand was unquestionable but the idea that she was missing with Malfoy worried him more than a little. She needed someone who would shield her and Draco-the coward-Malfoy was not the boy to defend her. At the sight of one vengeful mummy the wimp would without a doubt run from the fight leaving her for dead.  
  
"Well?" he asked when Hermione had failed to answer.  
  
"In theory all the rooms are connected so yes she and Malfoy should be safe," she replied. Ron wasn't quite convinced with her answer but didn't know if it was from the nervous wringing of her small hands, or the fact that deep down he was still a bit angry with her for keeping Ginny's secret from him.  
  
The feeling of falling through water was always strange to Ginny, even after summer days spent swimming at a pond by the Burrow, it was still rather strange experience and as her descent eased and she began swimming up to the small white square that appeared to be the only light amongst the darkness she heard the odd sound of a splash and felt something large and solid plunging passed her.  
  
It bumped her as it changed direction and drove passed her in a blur of grey-bubbles and murk. Continuing her ascent to the light and air, Ginny had the overwhelming urge to reach out to it. It was quite long and she caught it by what could only be described as its foot and it took her only a moment to identify it as a shoe.  
  
Being inhibited by the loss of one arm, she found it nearly impossible to swim and drag the heavy body that was attached to the shoe. Her arm and legs burned as she broke the surface, breathing in much needed air.  
  
Ginny had never described air as being sweet before, but as she broke the surface it was the only word she could think of. Her arm and legs burned as she struggled to hold onto the leg and keep her head above the dark water and find a shore. Her muscles burned with every stroke she made in the direction of the embankment and the task of holding onto the foot was becoming fruitless and stupid to her when her foot hit soft earth. The water rose to her chest as she kneeled in the water and turned the dark boot and the attached body upright. White-hair emerged from the brown-water and Ginny smiled in relief.  
  
She didn't know why but something had told her that it was him. His weight, nearly cut in half by the water, made it easy for Ginny to pull him by the collar of his shirt behind her. She could hear him spitting and sputtering as she tried to pull him onto the narrow bank.  
  
Their labored breathing was the only sound that filled the tunnel like tomb as they lay still on the stone bank.

Draco was the first to break their silence, "You saved me," he gasped. 

"I wasn't going to let you drowned," she panted, lying still on the slimy clay stones.

"Why not?" he asked gasping for air, and using his back to slowly slide up the wall behind them. "You hate me."  
  
With what little breath she had, Ginny groaned into the soft earth. Now was not the time to talk about such things, couldn't Draco see that. Catching her breath she rolled over on the narrow bank, looking at him sideways from the ground. He was paler than usual, his hair and skin had faded into a singular pristine color, and his chest rose and fell rapidly as he stared down at her. "I don't hate you, Malfoy. I never hated you, despite what I've said before."  
  
"Why not?" he asked again and she could see his chest was slowing as his breathing regulated.  
  
"'Cause I don't hate anyone except..." Ginny trailed off. As long as she'd lived there had been only one person, one thing she had every truly hated but she would die before she ever told _him_ that giving him that ammunition to use against her. "Let me rephrase that, I don't really hate anyone. If I dislike someone then I just don't care."  
  
"So that's it, that's my box?" he stated as a matter-of-fact.  
  
Ginny didn't answer. She didn't believe he deserved one. Why was he so interested in knowing her thoughts on him? She already knew his opinions of her: an employee and a Weasley. Plus, she wasn't concrete on her thoughts anyway.  
  
"We don't have time for this Malfoy," she said, looking up at the small rectangle that was their only source of light. How were they going to climb back up there?  
  
She was just beginning to contemplate different ideas when the silence between them was broke by a low feline growl.  
  
"Malfoy be quiet and start thinking of a way to get us out of here," she ordered.  
  
"I didn't say anything," he argued, withdrawing his wand.  
  
Ginny shook her head contributing the intimidating rumble to a mixture of exhaustion and her overactive imagination, but the feel of Draco's fingers curling around her arm chased those thoughts from her mind replacing them with panic.  
  
He swore in her ear dragging them up from their sandy perches. They slowly walked backwards and Ginny had the unnerving idea that Draco was using her as a shield.  
  
"Do you know where we are?" Ginny questioned him, hoping that she could hold her footing as her boots slid across the slippery sand and stones as they continued to move backwards.  
  
"I have an idea," he offered and she could hear the subtle and sudden panic that had risen in his tone. Draco always had everything under-control, including the pitch of his voice, and the fact that it was at an alto at the moment, unnerved her. "Let's just move, Weasley," and without warning Draco sprinted in the opposite direction his fingers still firmly clasped around her arm.

Ron sat back watching Hermione work on the door. She'd certainly figured out how Pansy had locked them in here. It seemed before this tomb was turned into a museum this corner had been a preparation room used by priests to prepare the bodies for mummification. They needed complete privacy and the secret spells they used needed absolute containment so they locked themselves inside as they worked. But none of that information got them any closer to being out of their stone prison.

He felt a weight drop beside him and expecting Harry's familiar voice, Ron nearly jumped as a female cooed into his ear.

"You're worried about the little Weaslette aren't you?"  
  
Ron didn't answer. He was in no mood to entertain Pansy at the moment and only wanted to eat his sandwich in peace.  
  
"Don't be," she said with such confidence that it took him back for a moment. "She's with Malfoy and I'm certain they're both okay. If anything at the sight of those walking paper-rolls, Malfoy's now miles from here."  
  
"I don't care what Malfoy does, Pansy. Just what he does with my sister."  
  
Hoping to end their conversation Ron took a bite of his sandwich, the meat and bread tasted odd in his mouth but conjured food always did.  
  
"Then you should watch the little vixen more closely," she said, smiling before standing and quickly moving to the other side of the room to sit next to Hermione.  
  
"What?" Ron asked, through a mouth of bread and hash. She was really beginning to annoy him with her nonsense. Yesterday, Malfoy was a Boggart and today his sister is a vixen. Was everyone Magical Creatures to her?  
  
Focusing his thoughts back on his sister, Ron took another bite of his sandwich. He didn't have time to contemplate Pansy Parkinson.

Draco's only goal was to place as much space between himself and the sounds that reverberated from what could only be the place he was destined to go. He was vaguely aware of the Ginny's throbbing pulse beneath his fingers as he gripped her wrist. All those days running from her brother's had finally paid off as she'd surprised him by matching his speed and holding her own against her natural clumsiness as he rushed them down the hall.  
  
He was just beginning to feel the first signs of fatigue in the slow ache of his rib-cage when Ginny set her feet bringing him to a jerking halt that would have made a _Firebolt_ proud.  
  
"Stop, Draco!" she ordered, tethering him by her arm to the spot on the small sandstone bank.  
  
"Not now, Weasley," he said, yanking her forward but she held fast.  
  
"Draco, I'm not taking another step 'till you tell me what's going on."  
  
He looked around nervously, insuring himself that they hadn't been followed, "We don't have time for this," he argued.  
  
"Yes, we do."  
  
He looked back at her, from the determined knit in her eyebrows it was obvious that she was going to hold true to her threat and not move another foot until he explained his actions.  
  
"In the _Chronicles of Cairo_ it was written that Ramses the Great, traditionally used lions when he rode into battle. He even raised one as a pet-"  
  
"Draco, I took History of Magic I don't need a refresher course," Ginny said, trying to rush him.  
  
"He also found them very valuable in guarding things. Where he discovered a Sphinx would undoubtedly fail, lions would flourish and mummified lions could continue their tasks well after their deaths."  
  
She shook her head. "You're mad, Malfoy. Lions don't exist in Egypt anymore and they certainly wouldn't be inside a tomb-"  
  
"How can you be sure?"  
  
"Those aren't lions," she insisted but her voice betrayed her doubt.  
  
"Use your brain, Weasley. Even the bloody museum's named after the Egyptian god Aker...A lion."  
  
"Then what in the hell are they doing down here?" "Obviously inside the mastaba and guarding something, Weasley," he said. "And I give you one guess as to what."  
  
He could see the realization dawning over her face, "You mean we must get past those-those...things," she demanded, pointing in the direction they had just run from.  
  
"Precisely," he answered turning to address his map. This underground tunnel wasn't anywhere on the blueprints that he had, but Draco surmised that it must be built identical to the building it rested under. The lighting inside the tunnels was horrid and he grabbed Ginny's lit wand and pulled she and it closer to him.  
  
Taking the advice of his blueprints turned to his right moving further down the tunnel.

Samir Mustafa had always been quiet, being one of those people who could convey all speech through a look. And now looking was all he was doing as he stood at the edge of _Ahamad's Rugs: The Only Way to Fly's_ parking lot watching the remarkable sunset as his tall ginger haired friend walked about the half-hazard heaps of rolled carpets and rugs inside the dusty pavilion. William Weasley was being directed by a slimy man with too little hair and too much gut.  
  
Bill pulled painfully on the tooth of his earring. It was a habit he had for curbing his temper and curbing his temper he needed. As far as he knew he'd never been the disciplinary sibling, letting his Mum's pressure for another mother hen to fall on Percy who had accepted it readily. But after receiving his friend's owl this morning, Bill was ready to murder his youngest brother. When he'd loaned Ron the blueprints he'd never imagined that his brother would've dared to travel down here. What in the bloody hell was the boy thinking?  
  
Bill was pulled from his murderous thoughts as the squat-owner stopped in front of an unusually large rug. Waving his short wand over the dirty carpet and making its fringe ripple.  
  
"Are you positive this is the flying-carpet they rented, Mister Karim," Bill asked the sales clerk.  
  
"Oh yes, my young friend, this is the exact carpet. The two young women that spoke to me were very adamant about having the best and this sir is the best. I could give you a very good deal if you're interested," he said, galleons and greed sparkling in his dark eyes.  
  
"No thank-you," Bill said, almost feeling guilt at denying the man's offer. It was obvious from the bursting stock and the empty pavilion that Bill and Samir had been his first patrons since yesterday. "But I do have one more question. How many carpets did you send out yesterday?"  
  
The squat owner nodded as he glanced down at his clipboard. "Fourteen carpets and twelve camel carts, it was a very good day but only two carpets went in the direction of the Aker Museum."  
  
Confused, Bill glanced sideways at Samir but only received a useless shrug for an answer.  
  
"What of their departure times?"  
  
Visually annoyed he glared down at his clipboard again, "Eleven for the first company and thirteen hours for the second. Now can I interest you boys in anything or are you going to continue to waste my time?"  
  
Bill shook his head politely, curbing the temptation to sneer at the squat wizard.  
  
Acknowledging that there would be no sale, the manager gave a quick nod, excusing himself.  
  
"So are we going to take the boat or one of these…" trailing off Samir looked around at the piles with disgust. "Flying rugs?"  
  
"Lions club is on the river, so I say barque," Bill answered.  
  
"Wise choice, my friend."  
  
"About the only one I've made in the last two weeks," Bill said an unusual self-depreciating air around him.  
  
Silence settled between them and Bill knew that his friend was agreeing with him.  
  
"Shall I send Horus for the team?" Samir asked.  
  
"I suppose," Bill answered tugging the bottom of his red earlobe.  
  
A silent sigh passed between them before Samir turned to look at him an obvious glitter to his black eyes, "Just like old times."  
  
Bill narrowed his eyes at his old friend's optimism but he couldn't help the nostalgic nervous but not unpleasant feeling that rose inside him at the excitement.

Blaise took in the harsh brown landscape, watching the blurry haze that rose from the tan dunes around him. Fortunately they had missed the dry season but the heat was still oppressive, and caused vile sweat to accumulate on his brow and neck. It was nearly unbearable and made him, for the first time since he'd cut it, glad his ponytail was missing.  
  
But it was still all a reminder of why he despised Egypt.  
  
His mind was littered with memories of his mother bringing him and his sister on many a holiday here and here is where he'd found refuge before his home had been ambushed by Aurors. But still there was something about the roughness of the dry land and the lasting decay of a dynasty that he detested.  
  
He cast a glance back over his shoulder, he'd sent his goons in half-an-hour ago to 'take care' of the security ghost that according to his informant and his antique watch was posted there, and they should've been back already. My God, how long did it take to 'freeze' a ghost these days? He'd practiced enough patience, hard work, and risk with his own life to extract them from their prison and now he was stuck with them. How had Malfoy dealt with such idiots?  
  
Flicking the silver lid of his watch open he swore as he read the time. His informant was late. Did no one find punctuality important anymore? At least Malfoy did, he thought thinking back to when he'd watched the blonde and his fellowship enter the gates of the dead city.  
  
He turned to glance back over the landscape and spotting his companion Blaise felt a smile of relief and anticipation curling his lips. Finally, things were going to be righted.  
  
"Soon Malfoy," he promised to himself. "Soon."

Ginny watched with a small satisfaction as Draco stumbled before her, but grabbing onto the stone walls of the tunnel he righted himself. But Ginny found she was not so fortunate, as she felt the sudden panic and helplessness that came along with sliding against your will and she could only yell as she stumbled clumsily into the shallow water. She flayed her arms in an attempt to break her fall, but unlike Draco her hands only met air. From the sickening pop that echoed from below her knee, Ginny suspected she had broken something even before she landed painful in the shallow water.  
  
"Weasley, are you okay?" Ginny heard Draco's voice, but he sounded miles away and she wasn't sure where he stood until she felt hands around her waist dragging her to her feet.  
  
"Answer me, Weasley," he ordered. "Are you okay? Did you bruise anything more than your ego?"  
  
"No," she snapped, jerking away from him. Despite the ache that traveled up from her ankle, she oddly found herself to be embarrassed.  
  
"Well since it seems your okay. I'm sure you'll be happy to hear that I see away out of here for us," he said dryly, pointing behind her.  
  
Following his finger, Ginny saw something that made her both thankful to be out of this cold tunnel and disheartened as her injured ankle would make it very painful to climb it. Flooded in warm light was a _long_ flight of sandstone steps.  
  
"Hobble on Weasley!" Draco said, taking the first few steps through the shallow water.

From the bright red arrow of the You Are Here Map and the line of Muggle and Wizarding torches that lined the visitor's desk she could see they had found their way back to the heart of the museum: The Tourist Center. It was lit well compared to the first time they had run by. She could see the tan bricked-walls were lined with unbreakable-glass cases that were filled with the different artifacts that had been discovered deep inside the tomb.  
  
Draco made quick work of finding a very large purple desk to lift her onto. Wet fabric slapping marble wasn't a welcoming sound to Ginny's ears as he hopped up to sit next to her on the slab. He pulled her injured ankle into his wet lap.  
  
"Let's see it then," he said, and when she didn't move, he sighed. "I mean your ankle Weasley. Now off with your boot so I may have a look at the damage you did." His eyes narrowed on her for a moment. "You didn't expect me to remove it did you?  
  
Because _I_ rarely take off my own shoes much less-"  
  
Ginny tried to drown him out as she unlaced the worn leather string of her boot. Before she removed the top folds, she could fell the orange-sized well of flesh that had been her ankle at one time.  
  
"-that's what I have house-elves for, but I suppose you wouldn't know anything of that would you," he finished, sliding her sock over the ball that was her ankle. From the pain shooting up her leg Ginny was easily able to ignore the softness of his fingers when he pressed around her injury. She tried to suck in her breath to veil her pain but from Draco's sharp look she wasn't doing it very well.  
  
"You broke it, Weasley," he said, patting her ankle with an unusual softness that mildly surprised her.  
  
"Wow, Draco," she replied sarcastically. "Why don't you tell me something I don't already know," she said, trying to slide her leg off the stone slab, but Draco held it still, applying enough pressure to make her yelp.  
  
"Let me go, Malfoy," Ginny warned, but Draco ignored her threat bending over her ankle with his wand.  
  
"Then at least tell me what're you doing?" she questioned.  
  
"Just trust me," he ordered.  
  
It was an odd request that caught Ginny off guard. Stunned with confusion she sat quietly and made no objection as Draco muttered a healing charm over her ankle and she was pleasantly surprised when her ankle stopped throbbing with pain.  
  
"Thanks," she said.  
  
"You saved my life," he answered teasingly. "It's the least I could do."  
  
"Where did you learn to do that?" Ginny asked, taking a bite of the surprisingly dry sandwich that she had stolen from his leather bag.  
  
"A book," he answered.  
  
He felt her skeptic eyes studying him as he took the first bite of his apple. "Why would _you_ take the time to learn Healing magic?"  
  
"I only learned the basics," he said. "It's not as if I'm a certified Mediwizard or anything."  
  
"That didn't answer my question," she challenged.  
  
"Well, at certain times in your life your shamed into taking care of yourself," he answered, remembering the nights he had sneaked into the Manor covered in bruises and scratches after a scuffle with a fellow trainee.  
  
She stared at him for a moment, weighing and measuring his words, trying to decipher his answer.  
  
"You learned healing magic during your trials, didn't you?" He felt a sudden surge of annoyance. "I couldn't very well go ask my mother, now could I? What about you, Weasley? You're an expert on healing sunburn, but can't even fix a sprained ankle."  
  
"I've been _healing_ sunburn since I was a child so it was just second-nature to me, Malfoy. And originally, I had wanted to be a Healer but I met Peter and took what I guess one could say was my true calling, leaving almost everything 'bout healing behind."  
  
"Almost everything?" he asked.  
  
"Well, I still have a _tiny_ thing for potions," she admitted, drawing a circle in the air with her foot. "My ankle feels tons better. Why didn't you do that before I had to take that dreadful flight of stairs?"  
  
"You didn't ask," he answered honestly, taking a bite of the apple he had.  
  
"Always the man of logic, aren't you Malfoy," she said, punching him lightly in the arm.  
  
Not quite believing that Ginny had dared to punch him, Draco looked down at the skin her fist had it then back up to her. "Well, I do try," he teased and felt a grin tugging at his lips. He liked teasing Ginny Weasley and in more than the fun malicious way but all thoughts of teasing fled Draco's mind as the echo of heavy footsteps approaching reached his ears.  
  
Draco's lazy childhood and adolescence had been spent being high on the excitement he got sneaking in-and-out of his father's study taking servant's passages and secret channels to explore his oversized home and spy on anyone his parents dared to entertain. Over the years he'd developed a great instinct when to hide and a sharp ear for hushed conversations and the sound of muffled footsteps but as he'd gotten older and spent less of his time spying Draco had learned to ignore his honed skill.  
  
But this time something overrode his reserve and told him to listen. He didn't know whose shoes the heavy footfall belonged to but Draco stilled anyway, his eyes looking over everything for a place to hide. There was nothing, no visibly decent place for them both to fit, so he quickly grabbed his bag thrusting his hand in and grabbing the map.

He could feel Ginny's dark eyes watching him with curiosity as his fingers followed along the useless lines of the blueprints. Panic was beginning to ebb through his control as the voices grew near and unfortunately Ginny must have finally heard them, because she turned away from him, "Do you hear that?" she asked, through a mouth of sandwich. Draco got a slap of wet hair as she turned her head to the disembodied voices that were only growing louder as they sat there.  
  
"Must be the others," she voiced to him. "Oi!"  
  
Draco clamped his hand over her mouth before she could croak another word and half-carried half-dragged her along the wall, his hand searching desperately for what he hoped was still there. It felt like an eternity before he felt air where there should have been stone. He kept one ear to the voice as his free arm disappeared into the tan-stone wall, measuring how big his niche was. Disappointment flooded him at the size of his hiding-space but having no other options he quickly forced Ginny's small squirming body into the priest's hole he'd been looking for on the blue-prints. Draco sprang back to the desk on light feet, grabbing the blue-prints and his bag in a messy bundle as he waved his wand to clean the mess they'd made.  
  
Ginny had stopped struggling against him. There was something wrong. She could feel it. It was in the way his muscles had tensed and the way he clasped his hand over her lips. She ignored the smell and the taste of dirt and muck that had invaded her mouth from his fingers. He lowered his head until they sat cheek to opposing cheek with one another. She had never seen him look so serious or so very old then at that moment.  
  
When he whispered into her ear, his breath didn't tickle her neck or send butterflies racing to her stomach; his tone was so grave it felt as if she had fallen through a thin-iced lake. "It's imperative that you follow my orders Weasley. Do you understand?" Ginny deftly nodded her head. "You must promise me that you _will not_ speak a word or move a hair until I allow you." Again, Ginny nodded her head.  
  
Their footsteps drew closer, accompanied by a pestering laughter that was oddly familiar to him but Draco couldn't quite place it. However when a gravely voice cut through the rest only to be answered with a drawling rasp, Draco was positive, who stood on the opposite side of their thinly veiled hiding space.  
  
He knew they're run in on the merchant street in Luxor had been no mere coincidence. Why hadn't he thought of it before? In all his research and all his tactical planning why had he failed to make the obvious connection of his former school mate and his father's associate? But now was not the time to search for useless answers and he filed the questions into the back of his mind.  
  
"Hush, you fools," berated Blaise Zabini, in that superior hiss that was usually reserved for house-elves. "So you're _positive_ that _Draco_ Malfoy has no idea we're trailing him."  
  
"Oh yes," answered the demon shop owner, Mr. Pailvouka.  
  
"And they haven't been followed. No one has any knowledge of them being here, correct?"  
  
"No one knows of there whereabouts. Except for maybe the security ghost but-" Draco could hear the cruelty in the demon's unearthly chuckle- "you took care of him."  
  
"That I did," Blaise answered. "And what of you, Mister Pailvouka, have you a tracker?"  
  
"Oh, no sir, it has been mum's-the-word."  
  
"Excellent," Blaise answered, his tone making the fine hairs on Draco's neck stand on end.  
  
Draco ran a shaky hand through his silvery hair as he sat inside the confined space, his knees drawn to his chest and his back to the opposite wall of her own. His wand was drawn before him but Ginny didn't think he was in any mood to try and test it. She could see the concentration furrowing his pale brow and for the first time he didn't hide his fear. She could feel it wafting off of him in cold waves and it scared her. "Draco what's happening?" she whispered into his ear.  
  
"Nothing," he said, laying a finger over his lips to remind her to stay quiet.  
  
"But I hear voices," she prodded, slowly inching her body through the cramped space and across his feet and shins to climb from the unusual nook. "Who's out there?"  
  
She heard him sigh as he forced her back by her shoulders leaning forward until his mouth could reach her ear, "If you insist on knowing its Blaise Zabini. Now, sit down and shut-up or I'll Body Bind you I swear," he hissed into her ear.  
  
Stunned Ginny sat back hugging her knees. She hadn't recognized his voice, but why should she? She'd only known him through case-pictures and at Hogwarts he had been just another shadow lost among the masses. But she could hear it now, in the admiration and fear of his cronies' tones. It was surreal. The infamous Blaise Zabini, the wizard her brother had been hunting for three years, stood a free-man on the outside of the niche she was hiding in.  
  
Her stomach cramped violently. What was she going to do? How were they going to get out of this? If she and Draco were discovered they would surely be dealt with in the manner that _they_ found fit and she didn't want to entertain thoughts of what three Death Eaters saw as being fit.  
  
How were Death Eaters out of Azkaban? Who could have been dumb enough to grant pardon to such horrid men? _No one, _she answered herself, feeling her face contort with her anger. They had to have escaped and Blaise Zabini had to have been the one to help them.  
  
These were guilty wizards given new lives when they had stolen so many and that fact sent a bitter fear and stubborn will into Ginny's every pore.  
  
She felt her eyes widen at the sudden thump on the outside of their haven. From the whimpering gurgle that accompanied the gorilla like laughter Ginny assumed it had been the man with the hoofed feet that had been thrown close to their feeble stone refuge.  
  
Suddenly Ginny found herself being torn, torn between helping the captured man and staying hidden with Draco. Zabini, Goyle, and the sandy haired man she only knew from his wanted poster had destroyed so many things in their young lives and they were about to do it again.  
  
She'd begun shaking, her wand warm inside her grip and she knew it might spark with her fury but she didn't care. Then she felt them, Draco's long dirty fingers were like a tranquilizer deadening her hand and pushing her wand into her lap.  
  
"We have to help," she begged, but from Draco's expression she knew it was useless. He wouldn't help and he wouldn't let her help either.  
  
He leaned forward his fingers gently pulling her cheek to meet his. "This isn't our fight," he explained softly in her ear. "All we could accomplish is getting ourselves killed."  
  
Ginny was silent, feeling her vigor and valor fading from her in degrees. As much as she loathed admitting it Draco was right. There was nothing they could do without facing certain death or worse. In both shame and sadness Ginny curled into her knees as the man cried out in surprise and pain.

The purple marble desk he hoisted himself on was oddly out of place among all the sandstone and Lebanon cedar but Blaise wasn't terribly worried as he slid himself over the smooth surface. He relaxed on his new found seat, cuffing his wrist with his fingers as he calmly faced Mister Pailvouka a smirk lingering on his lips.  
  
"Where's my payment Zabini?"  
  
If the question had been directed at either of the other two men there, they would have certainly been startled or at least shown some sign of surprise but Blaise just slouched nonchalantly on his stone perch looking at the small swarthy demon.  
  
"Yes, about that," Blaise answered. "I don't actually have it."  
  
"Well, this is as far as I go," said the demon. His dark eye narrowing dangerously on Blaise, and they made it clear to the former Slytherin that this was an intimidation tactic and intimidation wasn't something that boded well with him.

"You'll go as far as I pay you to go, Pailvouka!"  
  
"I don't have to do anything, you little hairless ape," Pailvouka snarled. "I want my payment and I want it now!  
  
"Can't you wait for it?" Blaise asked, confused and annoyed by the demon's sudden lack of respect and cowardice.  
  
"Wait around for Malfoy to pop back with Harry Potter and that Auror. Are you mad?"  
  
"Then I take that as a no?" he asked mockingly. "Well, I don't have-"  
  
Blaise was cut off by the feel of fingers on his chest as they tiny demon attacked him, talented-nails projecting from his scaly hands and his lips curled back in a toothless snarl. But none of his defensive measures mattered as Blaise grabbed him by the waist slamming him into the marble slab pinning him in place with a tan forearm to the throat. Blaise found that his pleasant mood was suddenly nonexistent.  
  
"Who in the hell do you think you are trying to defy me?" Blaise rhetorically asked, through gritted teeth but Pailvouka didn't cow like he had expected. Like he had wanted.  
  
Instead Pailvouka did something, while brave, was practically suicide. He sent spittle of yellow-green mucus onto Blaise's cheek, the acidic spit burning his skin. The cold rage that ran through Blaise at the repulsive act made him shudder as he stayed leaning over the tiny demon. "Now, Mister Pailvouka. I think there's been a change in our payment plan."  
  
In his strop Blaise grabbed the Disrespectful-Pile of shit by the shoulders lifting him off the table and throwing him to the stone floor. Unsuccessfully trying to catch his breath he pulled out his wand, quickly binding the demon with the black rope that slithered from his weapon. He needed to sort his thoughts because this was not how he had planned it all.  
  
Mister Pailvouka began babbling in odd clicks and disgusting slurps. It was a language Ginny had never heard before, but she understood him the same. He was terrified.  
  
"Now, there's no need for that whimpering sir," Zabini continued in his soft purr. "You should count yourself among the lucky, Mister Pailvouka. The boys would have had much more fun had you been a female...but as it's plain you're not. They'll get their kicks somehow."

"Cover your ears and eyes," Draco ordered. Ginny shook her head no. She might cower with him, but she would not pretend that nothing was happening. "_Please,_ cover your ears and eyes."  
  
_Coward_, she scolded herself, digging her head deeper into the alcove of her thighs and forearms. It was a label that no Weasley, not even Percy could ever have been guilty of being named. Ginny tried hiding in the darkness of her lids, but the action only attuned her to her less used senses.  
  
The sounds assaulted her, the fizzle and whistle of elementary curses cutting through the air, the nauseating thud and crack of flesh meeting stone, and the terrifying hyena cackle that erupted from the "boys" with every successful hex.  
  
But Draco's warm breath against her forearms and bare foot brought her back on the side of their safe immure. He had stayed her wand and her temper saving both of their lives for the moment but it did nothing to appease her anxiety. She hid her face between her trembling forearms, not caring that the thick end of her wand was digging deeply into her shoulder. Usually, she feared the dark but now it was the only safe place to hide from both her anger and her guilt.  
  
Oddly her brother's words rang like relentless church bells in her mind. You're in trouble, _real trouble;_ he'd told her when they had sat at dinner that night. Is this what he had meant?  
  
She pushed her thumb into her mouth biting down on the nail until pain spread from her cuticle and a selfish euphoria swept over her disguised as hope. Why was she so worried? Ron was going to come for her. Ron was going to save her.  
  
_But he won't,_ came a soft voice drowning her delirium. _He didn't come for you and your mother before and he won't come for you now._  
  
_Yes, he will. He'll come for me,_ she reassured herself. It was a selfish thought but she wanted him there. No, she needed him there. She needed him to tell her it would be okay, that there was nothing that she could have done, that she had made the right choice by hiding and not fighting. She needed him to tell her that she was safe.

Some could scream for hours, the noise piercing his ears until he could bare it no longer and would force something large and foul passed their lips before binding them closed. He'd been forced to stop his practice after accidentally suffocating a bloke from Beauxbaton, who'd been holding valuable information but Blaise hadn't cared, at the time all he knew was he wanted the cunt to shut-up.  
  
Yes, he didn't particularly care for the Screamers but he would take them over the Comatose any day.  
  
The Comatose, the ones who refused to let a whimper escape their throats or fear read from their eyes. His father once said they were simply too stubborn, but Blaise had always silently disagreed. He believed there was something more than strong will working within them; they were unreachable in another world untouched by threats or pain no matter how much he inflicted upon them.  
  
From the squeaks he made, Mister Pailvouka was proving to be the former and Blaise hoped he wouldn't have to perform a silencing curse on him because as much as he disliked it, he couldn't participate. This was his boys' time to practice before they were to face Weasley and . . . Malfoy.  
  
Superstitiously, his eyes searched both ends of the hall for any sign of movement. "Is he dead yet?" he asked gruffly.  
  
Squatting next to the body, McNair lifted a thin green arm and let if fall lifelessly to the stone floor, "I think so."  
  
"Well, it's about bloody time," he grunted, hopping down from his perch. "I would've been finished an age ago."  
  
"No reason to get snappish, Zabini," McNair commented, standing to his full height. "You're beginning to sound like Malfoy."  
  
Blaise felt a sudden violence surge through him at his understrapper's paralleling. "Don't you _ever_ compare me to that blood traitor again McNair or _you_ and Mister Pailvouka here will find yourself in the same boat. Do you understand?"  
  
Blaise waited for the groveling, but McNair made no move to apologize. He just stood like a pale thin statue, his dark eyes trained on something behind his leader.  
  
At the terror he read in the young mans eyes, Blaise armed with a wand in his hand swiftly turned to face what had shocked his normally long-winded partner into silence. He'd been ready, a curse already set on his tongue, but at the sight before him all he could manage was a weak swear as he stumbled backward.

The light from Harry's wand was dim barely bouncing off the sacred jubilee depicted on the hall that he and Ron were walking down. They had split into twos to cover better ground and like the bad movies Dudley used to watch they had done nothing more than get them lost inside the tomb. Harry couldn't wait to finally find Hermione and Pansy. Confident because Ron was following closely behind he quickly rounded the corner and painfully collided with Hermione and Pansy who both yelped in surprise.  
  
"Sorry," he apologized, embarrassed for knocking them down.  
  
"It's alright," Hermione said, accepting the hand he offered.  
  
"So did you two find anything?" Ron asked.  
  
"Nothing but sand and artifacts," Pansy answered wiping the dust from the backside of her trousers.  
  
His stomach involuntarily tightened at her report. Where were Ginny and Malfoy? This tomb wasn't so big that they could possibly be that lost.  
  
_Unless they didn't want to be found,_ a thought accused. Harry shook his head at his own mind. Maybe Malfoy would have abandoned them but not Ginny. She was loyal and would be entirely too worried about her brother to ever think of leaving him behind.  
  
He looked across the hall at his friend, who was running another hand through his hair. Being an Auror Ron had learned to disguise his emotions well but now he looked white with worry. It had been a long time since Harry had seen him that pale and it wasn't his own safety that he was concerned about. Ginny was missing.  
  
"Where in the hell could they be?" Ron asked, kicking the sandstone wall with his foot and with a yelp of pain filling the silence that had settled over the hall.

He and Ginny walked soundlessly down the corridor. They hadn't spoken since Ginny had thanked him for helping her up from the ground of their hidden alcove. But what did he expect her to say? He had just forced her to sit idly by while a man was tortured and killed. It was a mystery to Draco why Blaise had drawn it out, forgoing the Killing Curse. Defense Against the Dark Arts had taught them it was quick, painful, and effective. But what Blaise had had them do it was clear he'd wanted the shop-owner to suffer before being left behind like a piece of rubbish.

Draco had never been happier to hear gasps of surprise and the scuffle and taps of stumbling feet as Blaise and his company laid shocked eyes upon the undead mummies that had been eager to greet the new trespassers. As anxious as he'd been Draco had almost smirked as he listened to Blaise's voice shake as he shouted orders for a retreat. _Natural born leader my arse._ Draco assumed they'd run all the way to Luxor with their tails tucked firmly between their legs before they'd have the bollocks to stop, but even the comedic aspect of the situation hadn't broken Ginny's sudden spell of silence.  
  
From the sheltered life she had described to him she'd probably never seen anything like it before. He sure hadn't. Even during his trials to join the ranks, his father had never allowed him to _dirty_ his hands. Always insuring that he was given the menial tasks a fact that at the time had hacked him off, but now he was grateful for.  
  
She walked ahead of him, quietly lost in her own thoughts and wanting more than the sound of their heels on stone he grabbed for her wrist but clasped his fingers around her hand. For a moment he held it open in his own, her palm and knuckles were covered in the same soft film of mud that had seeped beneath his fingernails and into the stitches of his clothes, but he was shocked to discover that he'd never noticed how dainty it was before even if she'd chewed the thumbnail down to the quick.  
  
Slowly his eyes crept up her arm to a face pale with the shock she had been suffering. There was a pink rim that lined her eyes and he could see she was holding back tears. But tears for whom? The Brain-Eater? Surely, not.  
  
"You're not crying are you?" The question was harsher than he'd intended and she jerked her hand from his as if he'd burned her.  
  
"No, but if I was, it would be none of your business," she replied softly, but Draco suspected she had more gall behind it and irrationally that annoyed him.  
  
"I don't care if you're angry with me, Weasley. We're alive and that's all that matters."  
  
"But he's not," she rebutted, her rasping voice trying to rise but failing.  
  
Draco stood silent for a moment looking down at his now empty hand, so he was right; this is what the silence was about.  
  
"I don't understand why you care? You didn't even know him," he said.  
  
"As if you did."  
  
Draco didn't answer, now was not the time for confessions but he wouldn't lie to her either. He stared down at her, letting her mind come to its own conclusions.  
  
"Oh Merlin, you did know him didn't you?" she asked, covering her mouth with her filthy hand.  
  
The accusatory look she gave him compelled Draco to turn from her, he needed to walk away but he something wouldn't let him. Something in him needed for her to hear him out. He didn't care if she hated him for it, but he'd made the only choice for them and she had no right to judge it.  
  
"So what if I did, Weasley. So what if I knew what kind of thing he was, so what if I let him die. He likely deserved the way he went, now what does that have to do with me?"  
  
"Did my mother?" she asked and Draco was surprised when he felt his back meet the stone wall, her open hands promising a bruise on his pale chest. Draco jerked back up but couldn't go far as she held him in place between her and the wall. "Huh, Malfoy?! Did my Mother deserve it?! Did she?!"  
  
She shoved him once more for measure before walking away her anger wafting off her. Her statement struck Draco surprisingly hard not from her words but the sadness and anger that filled them. After all the compassion she had given him when it was his time to return it he had failed.  
  
He closed his eyes pinching the bridge of his nose, not wanting to see the tears he knew were racing the sweat down her freckled cheeks. What was he to do now? What words could he say that would remedy this situation?  
  
"I'm sorry. I'd completely forgotten about your mother, Weasley," he admitted. "It was careless of me but-"  
  
"But?" she asked. "There is always a 'but' with you isn't their Malfoy?"  
  
"But," he continued, "You can't make me feel guilty for saving our lives. I won't let you."  
  
"I still think we could've done something," she argued.  
  
Draco groaned, their redundant fighting was tiring and now was not the time for either of them to be righteous. They didn't just have walking artifacts hunting them but Blaise Zabini too and he couldn't be so easily unraveled.  
  
"Look, Malfoy," she started clearly tired of their feuding too. "My feet hurt. My ankle is _killing_ me. I'm cold. I'm tired and as much as I hate to admit it I'm scared. All I want to do is to find my brother and go home."  
  
Her words sent a stab of cold worry into Draco. "Your brother? Go Home? What about my map? Don't you still want to find that?"  
  
"You and your ruddy map can go straight to hell, Draco. I won't put my brother in any more danger for you."  
  
"What about Blaise, Ginny? Do you think that if we just leave that quarter down there it's going to stay put or that he'll just use it to resurrect his dead cat?"  
  
His question caught her off guard and she was quiet, her eyes searching the walls of their hall for an answer. "Fine, I'll find your bloody map," she replied, anger brimming from her voice before she turned around to walk away from him.  
  
"And don't think that mentioning Blaise to your brother would be beneficial either," Draco ordered to the retreating back that quickly turned to face him.  
  
Her dark eyes were wide with uncontainable outrage. "I will not endanger my brother and my friends to lie for you, Malfoy."  
  
"I didn't say that you should lie to your _beloved_ brother, Weasley. But if he knows Zabini's here he'll only put himself in more danger."  
  
She laughed with out mirth. "You really have gone mad haven't you? You're making absolutely no sense."  
  
Draco slowly exhaled through his nose, trying to bridle his aggravation for her sake. As much as she didn't appear it, Ginny was rather fragile at the moment and for someone who claimed to love and protect her brother so much, she knew very little about his behavior.  
  
"If your brother discovers that Blaise Zabini is anywhere near this tomb, he will go after him like a cat on a mouse, which is exactly what Blaise wants to happen."  
  
"My brother's not that rash," she claimed, shaking her head.  
  
He raised his eyebrow to disagree. "Okay...maybe he is but how would _you_ know what Blaise wants?"  
  
"Rules of Chess Ginny, loser always moves first," he stated honestly and not casting her second glance, he clasped her hand in his own like a mother did a child dragging her behind him.

"I was so daft. I knew I should've put a Tracking Charm on her," Ron said through clenched teeth. He didn't mean to annoy his companions with his repetitive mantra, but he needed to chastise himself. He had been so enthralled with his operation to entrap Malfoy that he'd lost his sister. Not only had he lost her but he had lost to the one wizard he was trying to arrest.  
  
He had been confident, more hoping, that Ginny would have found her way back to the entrance. He would have found her sitting outside the tomb enjoying the sunrise, but all they'd found was an abandoned security desk. Which Ron had automatically found odd. Why would the Security Ghost have abandoned his post? Yes, they weren't the most reliable form of defense being transparent and all but they weren't prone to leaving their stations. Especially, after the ghost had been so vigilant before.  
  
"Don't be so hard on yourself," Harry said, in that patronizing voice that he'd adopted from Hermione.  
  
"He's right Ron," Hermione piped in. "I'm not even sure if a Tracking Charm would have worked here."  
  
"Yes, but at least I would've done something. Instead of letting Malfoy steal her away," he argued.  
  
"Well Weasley, she wasn't exactly struggling to get away from him," Pansy said, ducking her head into a room. "Empty."  
  
At her words anger and vigor began to replace his worry and fatigue as he rushed to catch up to Pansy by the empty room. "Wait, you saw where Malfoy took my sister and just decided to keep quite this whole time," he accused.  
  
"Well, yes," she argued taken aback by his sudden aggression. "It's not as if it was going to help us find them. I'd assumed that they'd moved on by now. It's not as if _we_ stayed put."  
  
She attempted to slide past him but Ron caught her by the arm holding her still. She wasn't going to be so cryptic now. "Where are they Pansy?"  
  
"Let go of me Weasel," she threatened, her bright eyes slitting and her muscles tensing under his fingers. He could feel her reaching for her wand but he wasn't worried.  
  
"C'mon Ron, let her go this is wasting time and not helping anyone," Harry said, standing next to Pansy.  
  
Ron knew his best friend was right but he couldn't let her go just yet. She'd been feeding him riddles and now he wanted the answers.  
  
"Sorry Harry but not 'till she tells me where my sister is," he answered.  
  
"Ron let her go!"  
  
Confused he released Pansy's thin arm and spun to face the voice he'd known all his life. Ron didn't remember running to her, just the knee collapsing relief at holding his baby sister.

Ginny stared up at Ron from the floor of the cloaked room. Using her brother's blueprints Draco had led them back to the room where she'd fallen through the floor because everyone but herself agreed that since the priests had bypassed it the first time it had to be the safest place to parley.  
  
"So allegedly you two have just been _lost_ this whole time?" Ron questioned and briefly Ginny wondered if this is what his suspects felt like when being interrogated.  
  
She ignored her wrung hands as she nodded her head. She'd told her brother all that had happened until they'd reached the main room and then let Draco take over from there. She'd listened carefully as he fabricated a well thought out and very believable story. That involved mummies and reducio spells.  
  
"You discovered the Altar room? Are you sure? Where was it? What was is it like? Is it really made out of gold? Were there any Ushabtis?" Hermione asked anxiously.  
  
Ginny felt the dark cloud that had settled over her lessen as she watched Draco's face. She knew and so did he that his plan was only afloat by the Trio's decision to assist him and he was desperately trying to appear polite which was a clearly difficult task.  
  
"One question at a time, Granger," he bit out.  
  
"So you're sure the mastaba is located down there?" Hermione asked, pointing at the missing tile.  
  
"Positive...But there is one small _complication_," Draco answered. "But no need to worry I have a plan."  
  
The look Harry was shooting Draco was absolutely murderous. From the narrowing of his bright eyes behind his askew glasses to the tapping of his wand on his denim trousered-thigh, Ginny could read he was far from impressed by Draco's plan. And she couldn't help but agree.  
  
"Let me get this straight, Malfoy. You expect me to bait and then out run two lions, so you lot can run in and grab your bloody artifact?" Harry asked.  
  
"Well, you always have been a throw yourself to the lions kind of chap, Potter," he answered. "Look, I would have sent in Granger and Weasley Junior here, but between you and me they're a bit on the clumsy side and we can't have them, being eaten, so what do you think?"  
  
"Not. Bloody. Likely," Harry answered, pausing between each of his words for effect.  
  
"Well it's not as if I'm sending you in alone. You'll have Weasley over there," he said, waving a hand at Ron as if it should have been obvious.  
  
"Are you deaf Malfoy!? We're not doing your stupid plan," Ron answered.  
  
"My hearings just fine Weasley and unless you can come up with anything better I suggest you take my _'stupid plan'_ into consideration," Draco drawled out lazily.  
  
"Why should I?" Ron asked. "We can easily just walk out of this tomb with no endangerment whatsoever."  
  
Worried because her brother was right, Ginny cast a glance at Draco but sliding his wet silver fringe to the side he seemed completely unperturbed by Ron's answer. He had clearly foreseen her brother's opposition and had planned a counter attack.  
  
"Because a little bird told me that Blaise Zabini's vying for this artifact as well and you can't tell me that you want to see it fall into his hands could you, Weasley?"

From the small amount of wand-light that was pouring onto the still water it seemed that Ginny hadn't fallen as far as she'd originally thought. With wide eyes she knelt beside Hermione as they stared down the missing tile into the flooded hall below. Moments before she'd watched as her brother and Harry had climbed down the rope-ladder Hermione had conjured and disappeared into the darkness.  
  
There was tension in the air around them, that clenched her stomach as she waited for her brother and his friend to pass by and hopefully trailing far behind them would be the two lions.  
  
Faint mingled screams and the slapping of trainers against stone grew in volume, filling the small room. She stared down the hole, straining her eyes to catch any glimpse of red or black hair and in a blur of dark cloaks and boyish screams she knew they'd sprinted passed them. The taste of salt and copper assaulted her tongue as she chewed on her bleeding quick ignoring the quickening of her breath as she questioned her faith in Draco and his plans.  
  
She glanced up at him he looked so different than he had when they'd been hidden behind the desk. Leaning against the sandstone his arms were firmly crossed over his chest. He was staring back at her, his face completely lax displaying the indifference he felt at the situation. She couldn't help but glare at him.  
  
She'd just sent her brother and Harry down a manhole to what could possibly be there deaths and he looked no more concerned than if he'd just sat down to afternoon tea.  
  
Slowly he lowered his arms, pushing himself away from the fall, "Shall we go then. Who's first?"  
  
Ginny's mind went black for a moment and she could do nothing more than blink at him.  
  
"You, Weasley."  
  
"No, I'll go first," Hermione proclaimed, surprising both Malfoy and Ginny. "I'm not only older but-"  
  
"No, Hermione it's fine. I've been down there. You haven't," Ginny said. She watched as Hermione digested her decision but she didn't care what Hermione's opinion would be. She'd made up her mind and no one was going to change it.  
  
"I don't agree with it, Ginny but you can go. I just want you to be safe so do exactly as I said and you should be fine," Hermione said, and Ginny could hear the same concern laced through her voice that she heard when Hermione would talk to her brother and Harry.  
  
A nervous smile twitching her lips, Ginny scooted to the end of the stone, letting her feet dangle down the dark hole. The whicker rungs burned her fingers as she slowly climbed to the bottom of the ladder. She could feel Hermione's shadow and the sudden jostle of her added weight against the rope-ladder. The water lapping against the walls of the hall, soaked through the bottom of her trousers and Ginny stopped bracing herself with a deep breath before jumping through the darkness towards the embankment.

Overcompensation, sent Ginny painfully into the wall and she pulled herself up on her sore ankle rubbing her shoulder and arm as she retrieved her wand from the pocket of her trousers.

Lighting her wand as Hermione's soft footfall followed her Ginny nearly gasped in amazement. Even in the harsh glow of her and her companion's wands, Ginny could see the grandeur this hall must have held before it had been flooded.

"I have read about sacred pools but this is ridiculous," Pansy said, the light of her wand dancing from side to side.  
  
"No, this isn't a sacred lake just overspill from the Nile," Hermione corrected, guiding herself with the help of the stone wall. "It was probably a causeway or maybe an underground hypostyle hall. If I had more time I could probably tell you which. Hey-"

Ginny nearly turned around at her friend's sudden alarm, but was pushed against the moist wall as a heavy body slithered passed her to take the lead. Her wand illuminated the dirty but still pale hair on Draco's head as he stepped ahead of her, his quarter of the map in his hand, his stride quickening with each step. As she followed him around a sharp corner, Ginny wondered why if he had wanted to lead the way why hadn't he been the first down the ladder, but she held her tongue, continuing to follow him deeper into the tomb.

The air from the tomb was a dehydrating-cold that dried her throat as she and her companions moved cautiously into the Altar Room. But Hermione believed it should have been titled differently as it was unlike any altar room she had seen or studied in History or Magic.  
  
The large underground quarter was lit in the same fashion that bordered the rest of the tomb and tinted the odd objects that filled the room in gold. The stone floor was covered with row after row of the same altars metal that reflected the light from the torches. Unconsciously, Hermione moved down a step her eyes searching amid the podiums but to her disappointment there was no map insight.  
  
"Now what're we going to do?" Pansy asked, expressing Hermione's dread. Slowly, she moved down the steps. Walking among the podiums she idly studied the identical books. It was clear they were more lost than Hermione had feared.  
  
"I don't understand," Ginny said, rushing down the steps, her wet trousers and hair slopping water onto the floor. "What is this place?" she asked, turning in Malfoy's direction.  
  
"Well, I haven't an idea," Hermione answered.  
  
"Then who does?" questioned Pansy. Her long frame was barely visible on the opposite side of the room and many rows stood between her and the entrance. "Where are we, Malfoy? Is this the right room or not?!"  
  
"It has to be," Malfoy said. He was looking over the sea of podiums and books. His expression was dark and unreadable as his eyes darted from one row to the next and then from one companion to the other. He reached in his bag extracting the piece of hide that he'd been carrying about and slightly shook it as if trying to find life. "It just has to be."  
  
"That's reassuring," said Pansy, curiously tapping one of the many altars with her wand.  
  
"What about your map, Draco?" Ginny asked, moving closer to him.  
  
"My quarter can only bring us this far. I suppose we must figure out the rest on our own," he answered. He stuffed the cloth back into his leather bag, snapping the silver fasten into place.  
  
He and Ginny looked back over the different altars. What were they going to do? There must have been at least two-hundred different altars standing before them. What were they supposed to do with that? What did a legion of books have in common with his map?  
  
She watched him step forward, his light brow furrowing, his pale eyes moving over every object in the room as he assessed the situation.  
  
"The books," he whispered to himself then louder he stated, "The books. The map's inside one of these books."  
  
"It's inside of a book?" Hermione asked. Her voice was filled with doubt but her dark eyes soon grew wide with realization, "Of course they would hide it inside a book." The former Head girl turned to face the wooden shrines. "But the question begs, which one?"  
  
"Now, that I haven't quite figured out yet," Draco answered, taking the final step down the stairs wearing an expression that could only be disappointment.  
  
Ginny understood why he wore such a long face. It would take them much longer than they had anticipated for Pansy to shuffle through all the different altars and books. She _was_ the only one who could touch them after all.

His father hand handed him all the clues to the riddle, every piece to the puzzle: Pansy, the Egyptian, Weasley, the Auror, Mister Pailvouka the shop owner, and Ginny Weasley, the Untouchable. And until now every piece had fallen effortlessly into place, fitting smoothly into the overall picture but Ginny Weasley. She was like trying to fit a square peg of granite through a circle-hole of marble and now matter how hard Draco tried, no matter which angle he chose, he couldn't figure out what her function was.

What was her job? he asked himself but his mind only answered with trivial things. Ginny had been so many things had done so many jobs: research, stealing, and stupid menial tasks that she was overly qualified for. But not one of those things could possible he what Father had meant for her. _She has much better uses than your bed._  
  
Draco internally looked over his jigsaw again, his mind connecting and assembling every piece into place and yet the void continued to mock him.  
  
_What was her primary use boy?_ a voice that sounded ridiculously like his father questioned.  
  
Unconsciously sneering at the challenge Draco let out an anger-filled breath, clearing his mind and opening the dossier that was Ginny Weasley and as easily as he tapped into his memory his riddle was answered.  
  
"Weasley," he beckoned, feeling the tingle of excitement replacing the numb of disappointment.  
  
At the drawling sound of her surname, Ginny turned to find Draco moving toward her. The dripping shoulder-bag, he'd been attached to the entirety of trip, tapping freely against his thigh.  
  
"What?" she asked, curiosity growing in her as she watched his pale-eyes begin to glitter.  
  
Wagging a long finger at her Draco was nearly smirking when he reached her. "You're going to find my map for me." It wasn't a question. It was an order.  
  
Ginny felt her mouth drop open with confusion, "What? How?"  
  
"Your party-trick, your hidden talent, your bloody sixth-sense… Well, whatever in the hell you call it, its going to find which of these shrines is holding my map captive."

"No, I can't. I can only feel _cursed_ objects. It'll be just like the map. I won't feel anything," she answered, hating that she had to sever Draco's proposal, but his eyes showed no signs of disappointment.  
  
"That's not true, Weasley. What about my Mother's money purse? It has hardly a stitch of magic in it at all and you felt something from it, didn't you?"  
  
It didn't take much for Ginny to realize that Draco was right. She hadn't felt any evidence that his mother's purse had been cursed but she'd seen entire scenes of Narcissa's life. Maybe her 'skill' had grown, maybe it had morphed into something else, or maybe it had been just a fluke but Ginny didn't have time to question her unwanted gift.  
  
"I'll do it, but I can't guarantee that it will work."  
  
"Good," he said waving an arm around. "Pansy will open the doors and you'll test the book it's that simple."  
  
Suddenly worried that Narcissa's purse was an isolated incident, Ginny spun him by the arm to face her. "Okay, but what if I touch the map, and don't feel anything and by pass it," she whispered to him.  
  
Draco gave her a half-attempted smile. "Then it's best that doesn't happen."

A nagging pessimism kept Ginny from believing that this hunt wasn't anything but a hopeless cause. She and Pansy were beginning work on the fourth row altars but it felt as if they'd been doing it for hours. Opening, alter after alter and testing book after book.

But the result was always the same: Nothing. Sure, she'd gotten a tiny flash from a few of the golden books but it shown nothing more than a spark of static.

Pansy paused, her long fingers wrapped tightly around the golden handles. She let go, turning on her heel to Draco who was standing to her left, stroking his chin. Pansy's crystal eyes and crossed arms showed the contempt she was feeling. "I'm tired of doing this, Draco," she said, defiantly. "This is useless. Your map's obviously _not_ here."

Leaning her back against the previous altar, Ginny couldn't help but agree with Pansy. This was exhausting and a complete waste of time. But Draco looked unaffected by their cynicism and Pansy's threatening tone.

"One more," he ordered, quietly.

"Come on, Draco," Pansy whined and Ginny had the distinct feeling Pansy was two stages away from throwing a fit.

"One more," he said more assertively. His pale eyebrows knitting as his glare shifted from the altar to Pansy and back again.

"Fine!" Pansy screeched, turning to face the altar again. "Fine!" she repeated, grabbing the golden handles and reciting the engraved password in an unintelligible whisper. "But I swear this is the last one," she finished, pulling the pair of small doors apart, revealing the golden book they held inside.

Ginny sighed, lazily pushing herself away from the altar's wall. Fatigue and tension were beginning to weigh on her and walking over Ginny's shoes felt as if they were made of lead. Turning away from Pansy, she silently thanked the lanky widow for her fit. This was going to be the last bloody book she had to touch and when it was done, she would leave this bloody tomb, hop a train to get out of this bloody country, get home to bed and sleep off this bloody awful day. But at her first glance of this new tome, Ginny knew that would not be the case.

Disappointment didn't follow this knowledge as Ginny would have expected, instead an almost ethereal feeling fell over her.

The book was by far the most exquisite she'd seen. Gold and turquoise mapped out the hieroglyphic characters as it sat on it's on thrown of ebony. It demanded to be watched, to be respected, to be worshipped.

"Well, go on," Draco prodded, and as if she was being snapped out of hypnosis Ginny was suddenly aware that she hadn't moved. Taking a deep breath to compose herself she plunged her hand into the dark altar, laying her palm flat on the cold metal.  
  
_It was as if she were laying flat on a broomstick, watching the scene play out from above. The room was dark, lit only by the fires of a few alabaster bowls but she could make out dark figures preparing the room below her. Near naked men dressed only in small brown kilts and each bearing a unique gold amulet worn over their chests. But one stood alone and out to her, he was adorned in bright robes that swept down his long frame as did his auburn beard. She could see he was placing something inside the shrine they circled but even squinting her eyes she could not make it out, but something inside her knew what it was: Draco's map.  
  
Wands, scepters, and wooden staffs were drawn and in a mixture of light and electricity the small piece of animal hide and black ink lurched into a more square and polished shape._  
  
"Ginny?"  
  
At the sound of her name Ginny fought to hold onto to her insight, to be certain that what she had seen was real but the feminine voice was persistent and beckoned to her again. She let go and fell from the safety of the ceiling, through the altar she'd been floating above to the cold floor. Her vision was over and Hermione's voice was anchoring her back to reality. The dark room was dissolving away, mutating into the reality she knew before, and the first familiar face she saw was Draco's.  
  
His metallic eyes were dark and creased as he stared down at her. It was clear he wasn't familiar with an empathetic seizure but she didn't have time to hold his hand through it.  
  
"It's the book!" she gasped, surprised how sweet the air felt filling her lungs.  
  
"It's the book. It was transfigured or something, I'm not sure. There were so many of them that I'm not sure what they did?"  
  
"Who are they, Ginny? What did they do?" Hermione asked.  
  
But Ginny ignored her and turned to Malfoy, clasping his dirt stained collar desperately." The priests they did something to it. You have to believe me, I saw them. I saw him. The map's the book."  
  
"The map's inside the book?" Pansy asked, trying to pry the metallic cover open.  
  
"No. No, the map _is_ the book," she spat back, hopelessly. "Trust me. Just do the bloody ritual." She quickly covered her mouth a vain attempt to stop whatever was trying to find its way back up. Even as Ginny crawled away from them, Hermione could see that the small redhead was going to be violently ill. She felt the need to go after her, but from experience she knew it would do no good.  
  
"Is she okay?" Pansy asked, not sounding very concerned.  
  
"She's okay," Malfoy said curtly but there was something distorted in his tone. "Now do as she said, get moving Pansy!" Malfoy opened his bag removing something shiny and sharp and thrust it at Pansy.  
  
No words were said and it seemed as if everyone but the small red-head was holding a breath as they moved around Pansy and the solitary altar. Even in the torchlight her crystal-eyes were bright and she sucked her bottom-lip into her teeth mentally preparing herself. She took the dagger by the hilt from Malfoy and brought the blade across the tip of her index finger, drawing a line of dark-blood that dripped down the mirror-blade.  
  
"Do you have the instructions?" Pansy asked her in an almost trembling voice.  
  
Hermione remembered the waterproof paper inside her trouser pocket and pulled it out, ready to hand it to Pansy. All movement seemed to slow down as she watched Pansy take the yellowed paper from her with a thankful nod. She began tracing her finger along the text of the book, smearing blood over the metallic cover, drowning Ginny's retching as she recited the translated script.  
  
Malfoy's greedy eyes moved slowly between the book and Ginny. His attention seemed almost torn between watching her and finally grasping his treasure.  
  
The treasure won.  
  
Grasping it with both her hands, Pansy popped the book from its altar breaking whatever spell had enchanted it as it morphed into a twin of what Malfoy had been carrying.  
  
Everything was silent for a moment, even Ginny's retching seemed to have stopped in the timeless instant but the silence was split as the screech of stone against stone assaulted their ears. A river of yellow poured from the ceiling, sand quickly mounding on the floor as Hermione's eyes darted around the room, her mind trying to digest the scene. But cleverness wasn't going to stop the enfolding walls from crushing them or stop the sand from drowning them. No, only instinct and light feet could save them now.  
  
"We have to get out!" she yelled, weaving between the toppling wooden shrines to get Ginny but Malfoy had beaten her to the girl. Hermione gasped at the sight her friend made. Her dark swollen eyes were open in her ashen face but Ginny looked worse than Hermione had ever seen her before. But Malfoy seemed unperturbed as he helped her up using his own body as a crutch.  
  
"Get the book, the dagger, and Pansy. Then go," he directed, propping Ginny against the base of the entrance and removing his wand.  
  
Her stomach cramped as the stone tiles of the ceiling began to splash and crack against the floor of the tunnel, "I'm not leaving her alone with _you._"  
  
"I'm not giving you a choice Granger. Now get the hell out of here!" he ordered through gritted teeth, lifting Ginny's sagging body.  
  
The redhead raised herself on wobbly legs, trying to push Malfoy away from her. "I don't need your help, Malfoy. I can walk," Ginny croaked.  
  
Malfoy's face was creased with aggravation as he held onto Ginny's arm keeping her upright. "Do you _want_ to fall on your face Weasley?" Ginny did nothing but glare at him. "Then stop being a stubborn cow and let somebody help you."  
  
Malfoy turned to face Hermione. His eyes narrowed as if she had caught him doing something he was highly embarrassed of and was daring her to say something.  
  
"Are you just going to stand there or are you going to get Pansy and get out of here?"  
  
Turning around to gather Pansy, Hermione almost swore aloud. Pansy was splayed across the stone floor, the leather-piece she had been holding feet away from her body. Cursing Ron and Harry for not being there, Hermione ran to the collapsed girl. Ignoring the brown-map near her hand, Hermione knelt beside her.  
  
"Malfoy!" Hermione heard herself screech when Pansy wouldn't rise.  
  
"What now, Granger?!" he hissed, turning with a barely conscious Ginny by his side.  
  
Hermione had no need to explain herself as a very rude and _very_ lengthy string of French and English streamed from Malfoy.

The thunderous grumble and the ceiling's stones slapping the water as it collapsed made Draco feel as if he was marching through a pregnant storm cloud and not an imploding tomb. His shoulder and back burned supporting a near deadweight Pansy as he maneuvered them over the narrow and hidden embankment. Yes, she had already been spindly and Granger had cut her weight in half with a charm but she was still more than he was used to carrying when running through waist high water. But even his burning muscles, the menacing roar of the stones, and the foul water couldn't stop a small grin from escaping his lips. He had another fourth of his map and he was almost free of this tomb and that was all that mattered.  
  
_Well, almost all that matters,_ a small voice interjected.  
  
But Draco ignored it rounding the last corner, he listened to the echoes of Granger's optimistic voice and encouraging words to Ginny as the water continued to rise and they waded through it ahead of him.  
  
Suddenly they stopped. "Harry? What are you doing down here? You should be upstairs with Ron," he heard Granger ask.  
  
"Long story. Where's Malfoy and Pansy? And what happened to Ginny?" Potter asked.  
  
"Long story," she replied. "That I'll tell you later but we need to get out of here. Now!"  
  
"Then let's get you two up," Potter said and as Draco neared he could see the three figures and the rising brown water bathed in the light from the missing tile.  
  
"Ginny and Pansy aren't strong enough to pull themselves up, Harry," Granger said handing Ginny to Harry as the water reached her chest.  
  
But soon Draco was watching Ginny move up through the missing tile without touching a single rung and felt a wash of unexplainable relief as he quickened his trudging.

Ginny didn't walk but crawled away from the hole in the floor. The stones beneath her were shaking and as if her bones had been removed she fell the small distance to the floor, her cheek slapping against the dusty stone. The camouflaged door way was gone replaced by the mummies. She had a bug's eye view from the floor listening to the heavy breathing, the slapping of water soaked clothes on stone as another person collapsed on the stone floor.  
  
She wanted to scream, to cry out and alert everyone but her body refused to obey her. Her limbs protested as she commanded them to work. It was as if someone had hit her with a body bind curse and she could do nothing but watch as the mummies were cast away from the door in a colorful shower of sizzles and flashes.  
  
Relief and panic fought inside Ginny. The threshold was empty, filled only with shadows and rotten air and Ginny wondered if everyone could hear her heart trying to beat it's way out of her chest as she waited for the persons who had rid them of their mummies, to show themselves. She prayed to herself that it wasn't Blaise, that it was someone else, the security ghost, a lost tourist, anyone but Blaise Zabini but as the tall figure stepped into the archway the world suddenly began shrinking as if someone had turned a pair of Omnioculars around on her and as suddenly as it began it stopped leaving her in total darkness.

_What's wrong with Ginny?  
  
How should I know?  
  
You're the one that's been with her all day?  
  
Stop bickering and help me pick her up. She needs a Mediwitch._

The first image to swim into Pansy's vision was the warm crowfeet edged eyes of her Mediwitch. Her head was clear and her body felt well rested but there was an aching in her stomach that needed to be filled.  
  
"You're awake," said the nurse giving Pansy a motherly smile that made her feel slightly uneasy. "Your friends will be so happy to hear that. Should I send for them?"  
  
"No," Pansy answered, but surprising to her, her voice came out in a rough whisper.  
  
The nurse swiveled in her chair and grabbed the silver pitcher, pouring a tall glass of water. Pansy nodded her head in thanks and disregarded every etiquette lesson her mother ever taught her gulping the cool water until she felt the last drop on her tongue.  
  
"My friends?" she asked, certain that she had another dozen names picked for them and that friends was certainly not it.  
  
"You mean the two young ladies...Well the gabby one-"  
  
"Granger, Hermione Granger."  
  
"Yes, I believe that was her name," the mediwitch answered, adding some measured clear liquid into a purple cup. "She only needed the cut on her arm mended and the bones in her hand mended where she broke them. The shorter fiery one-"  
  
"Weasley?" Pansy asked, pushing herself up into a sitting position against her headboard.  
  
"Yes, Ginny Weasely," she answered. "She came in much like you but just needed to be hydrated then we let her go."  
  
"What about the boys?"  
  
"Besides a few cuts and bruises they were all fine. They should all be in the dining tent, if you feel up to joining them."  
  
Eager to leave, Pansy went to pull her covers down but stopped, remembering that the entirety of her wardrobe had been stolen. She'd have to stay until Granger or the female Weasley came by for a checkup before she could get any decent clothes and her growling stomach did not want to wait that long.  
  
"Would you send an apprentice or intern or whoever for the two females that I'm traveling with? Because I could certainly use a change of clothes," Pansy said, lying back in her bed.  
  
"Of course dear, I assume you didn't like the outfit that the boy brought for you," Doloris answered, pointing at the faded orange t-shirt and ghastly green trousers laid out on the footboard of Pansy's bed.

Ginny felt nothing as she stood outside the Dining tent looking upon the busy compound her eldest brother had built in less than twenty-four hours, the different wizards who worked under him and his friend Samir ran about the maze of green and brown tents in an orderly chaos she still failed to understand. For any other wizard it might have been deemed impressive but for Bill it was elementary.  
  
Her brother's workers ignored her letting her blend into the green of the tent behind her and she preferred it. She'd been trying to stay out of everyone's way since she'd awoken inside the meditent, concerned blue-eyes bearing into her own. She wasn't disregarding her brothers' or her friends' concern she was just choosing to avoid them.  
  
She was far from happy with herself and could tell no one why. If any of them were to find out they'd surely resent her. It was something she had trouble admitting to herself. She'd let someone die. Ginny Weasley had let someone be killed. Did that make her and Draco murderers? With his nonchalant behavior Draco didn't seem to think so, but clearly he believed there was a difference between what _should_ and what _had_ to be done.  
  
Ginny closed her eyes against the headache worming its way in. She hadn't slept well in the medi-tent even after the dreamless potion the Mediwitch had given her and she was beginning to feel the effects of denying her body rest. She was unable to shake her fatigue even after the frigid shower she took that only left her cold and tired.  
  
Feeling a pair of eyes on her Ginny forced her lids open despite their heavy and sandpaper feel. Staring back at the owner of the curious bright-eyes Ginny was unsurprised and unconcerned at whom she saw. She knew he wouldn't ask her or say anything to her brother. He wouldn't know what to say. Harry never did. So she smiled and nodded her head at him receiving one from him in return before they resumed politely ignoring each other. But even after Harry passed her to walk inside the Dining tent, the feeling of being watched didn't abandon her compelling Ginny to finally take lunch and follow him in.  
  
Looking for her seat Ginny wondered if staying outside with the stalked feeling would not have been such a bad idea. She felt she could have been knocked to the ground with the amount of tension that hit her as she walked down the short aisle and took a seat on the bench behind her brother. From the unusual manner Hermione and Harry were eating their meals and the fact that Ron and Bill weren't eating at all, Ginny assumed that she had walked into an already strained atmosphere.  
  
"I had everything under control!" Ron yelled at her older brother, his knuckles white around his empty plastic-fork.  
  
"Really?" Bill asked, and for the second time in her life Ginny saw his face as red as Ron's. "It sure as hell didn't seem that way to me or the Magic Reversal Squad. What in the hell were you thinking? Oh wait, you weren't."  
  
"You're treating us like a bunch of children. We're grown wizards, Bill. You should start treating us like them," Ron said standing, his fork abandoned in a clatter on his plate.  
  
Never the one to play family mediator, Ginny just sat silently as Bill laid a heavy hand on Ron's shoulder gently pushing him back onto his seat. "Start acting like one and I just might."

"Look you three," Bill began, his tone much softer than before as addressed the three friends. "There are going to be a good deal of questions and I know I can't get all of the answers I need now. But don't think I'm going to forget this anytime soon."

The room sat in stunned silence as Bill stood up, straightening the collar of his green robe. "Now, I want you packed-up. Your train's leaving at five-past-five." Ginny's eyes followed her brother's quick progress to the flapped door and before he left turned to face them. "Don't be late."

Ginny took a deep breath of relief at the dodging of the row and the postponement of the inevitable questions she was sure each of her brothers' had. But her reprieve was short lived as Ron swung around in his seat to glare at her, his ears bleeding into his hair and his face unnaturally plum in color, "This is your fault, you know."

Shocked by his anger and honesty Ginny could only stare at him for a moment. He was right, it was her fault. If she hadn't been trying to help Draco then none of them would have come down here and Bill certainly wouldn't be so outraged. But her stubborn pride kept her from wilting to her brother's anger. "Then don't talk to me Ron."  
  
He didn't. Actually no one spoke a word the remainder of the afternoon. Maybe it was from aggravation or just exhaustion but all were silent as they boarded the train that Bill had booked them on.  
  
The station was barely out of sight when Pansy hopped up from her seat, straightening her faded orange t-shirt and disappearing out of the sliding door. Confused Ginny looked to her other companions for an explanation but found them stacked like fallen dominoes in their seat. Hermione's unruly curls were pressed flat against the pane, her book unread and forgotten on her lap. Harry was leaned against her, the black hood of his pullover hiding his untamed mane and Ron's head was on his shoulder, his eyes shut tight beneath his bright red fringe. Shortly after their train departed Pansy disappeared to the dining cart while everyone tried to get comfortable in their seats.

Ginny felt a sudden jealousy bubble in her at the sight they made but it wasn't just the intimate bond that brought along this particular wave of envy. It was the blissful sleep that she couldn't join them in. Images were flying across her mind as fast as the smoky scenery outside their window, each picture demanding her acknowledgement but she wasn't alone in her insomnia.  
  
Draco was the only other person in their compartment who hadn't succumbed to the fatigue of their journey and Ginny watched him as he used the light of the window to study both existing pieces of his map. After everything that had happened to them in the past forty-eight hours, he still seemed to be the same Draco Malfoy, living in his own world as he tried to match the pieces. Silently sighing, he carefully laid them inside his leather bag, giving the appearance of defeat but she knew better. Draco was tenacious and the two pieces wouldn't stay as separate pieces for very long.  
  
Lying back on his head rest, he closed his eyes and Ginny assumed he was failing miserably at trying to beat back a headache. He looked so young and tired and...alone.  
  
Ginny didn't want to think about that. She didn't want to feel sympathy for Malfoy. He'd done this to himself, pushing everyone away with his toxic personality. But try as she might she couldn't completely disregard his state even after the things he'd said to her and that alone made Ginny feel ill.

"Where are you going?" Draco asked, looking up at her as she stood.  
  
Not turning around Ginny answered, "The loo."  
  
Ginny could hear footsteps behind her but paid them no mind. There were many people on this outgoing train and she was sure everyone would end up following one another at some point. She had her hand on the long cold knob, when she felt the man behind her was not merely another passenger.  
  
"I need to talk to you," he drawled in her ear, following as she stepped inside the tiny compartment.  
  
"What is it Draco?" she asked, slowly turning around in the cramped space. "Why aren't you asleep like everyone else?"

"I don't make a habit out of falling asleep in public, Weasley," he answered, his voice just as aggressive as when they'd fought inside the temple. "And I have more important things to take care of."

"If you needed to use the toilet, Draco. You could have just said so," Ginny answered, moving to walk around him but Draco laid his hand on the sink, his long arm stopping her.

Taking a deep breath to compose herself, Ginny narrowed her eyes looking up at him, "Let's have it then, Malfoy. What do you want?"

"How could you think you are a higher priority than her-"  
  
Anger spiked in Ginny at his accusation and only fatigue and confusion kept her from sparring back at him. "Than who? Pansy?"  
  
"Stop playing the fool, Weasley. You know exactly who?" he spat back.  
  
Ginny stared back at him struck mute with anger and ignorance.  
  
"My mother, Weasley. How could you think that _we'd_ take precedence over her?"  
  
Ginny snorted in astonishment. She'd always known that Draco Malfoy had been born with an overwhelming since of pride and smugness but at this moment it was ridiculously overbearing.  
  
"You honestly believe I care more about shagging you then finding the rest of that bloody map, do you?"  
  
He lifted a delicate shoulder, leaning against the porcelain realm of the sink.  
  
"Then you're a bigger fool then I ever thought you could be," Ginny answered. "I mean... Who do you think I've been doing this for? After everything you've said to me, why in the hell do you think I'm still here? My health."  
  
"Money," he said calmly and Ginny couldn't help but think that his answer was directed as an insult and for a minute she had the urge to thump him and wasn't sure why.  
  
"You just keep getting dumber and dumber don't you Malfoy?" she asked, her voice laced with cynical laughter. "But since we're being so open and honest what other problems do you have with me? Is my hair too red? My temper too short?"  
  
"No Weasley, your perfect except for you passive-aggressive dictatorial attitude thinking you reserve the right to tell me what I can and can not do?" he accused, crossing his arms over his chest.  
  
"When have I ever told you what to do?"  
  
"The other night, you told me to stay away from you and I'm telling you that I don't have to."  
  
"That's right because you're Draco Malfoy and Malfoy's can do whatever they bloody well please-" Ginny mocked.  
  
"Are you not even listening to what I'm saying Weasley?" he asked, grabbing her by both arms. For a minute the only sound was the rumble of the train around them until Ginny pushed him away from her.  
  
"Don't Draco," she ordered. "Don't tell me what you think I want to hear because you're scared that I might tell Ron or someone about what we saw happen. Because I'm most definitely not going to."  
  
"I'm not telling you this because I think you want to hear it, Weasley. I don't care if this is what you want or not. All I know is that it's what I want."  
  
Ginny scoffed, "So you finally know what you want. What might I ask brought about this little epiphany?"  
  
He stood silent making Ginny wonder what information his mind could be contemplating over. What were the risks it was calculating?  
  
"Well," she prodded.  
  
He sighed. "Would you like the truth or what I'd prefer to tell you?" he asked lightly.  
  
"The truth is fine," she answered matching his tone.  
  
He let out a long breath. "All right then, my only answer could be... You did."  
  
"What? When?" she asked, confused.  
  
"I don't know," he answered, suddenly entranced by the striped wall paper and the taste of the inside of his cheek.  
  
"You don't know?" she asked, vexed by his answer.  
  
"That's what I said isn't it," he snapped as if she'd just stepped on the tail of his new cloak.  
  
"Yes, because 'I don't know' is a good enough answer and might I add _reason_ for you to invite yourself on my loo trip," she shot back.  
  
"Fine, you want the truth Weasley," he started his voice dull and his arms crossed. "When we were in the temple without question you gave everything you could to help. And for what gain? None-"  
  
"Not true," she said jokingly. "Two of my brother's now officially hate me."  
  
"Your brothers don't hate you, Weasley and if they do then they're dumber than I ever gave them credit for but I didn't come in here to discuss your brothers-"  
  
"Why _did_ you come in here?" she asked, cutting him short.  
  
Gray-eyes narrowed but it didn't falter her. "To thank you," he said his voice surprisingly sincere.  
  
Ginny was stunned silent for a moment by his gratitude and then couldn't help but laugh at the situation. He had followed her into the toilet to attack her with outrageous accusations just to turn right around and thank her.  
  
"You make about as much sense as a garden gnome Draco Malfoy," she said, unable to contain her mirth.  
  
He only sneered at her childish insult and giggles but Ginny could see he was swallowing his retort.  
  
"So you attack people to show your gratitude is that it?" she asked, still grinning. "You must have really been grateful to Harry and Ron then."  
  
"I don't randomly attack people Weasley and I certainly didn't attack you... I baited you. There's a difference."  
  
"So you bait people to be thankful that clears it right up," she said, sarcasm dripping.  
  
"No, I baited _you_ so you'd be vulnerable and frank. Nothing gets honesty better than a flared temper . . . Especially yours."  
  
"So everything you just said was a lie."  
  
"Now, I didn't say that did I?...But because of you I _am_ one step closer to Mother's cure."  
  
"Now don't credit me with that Malfoy. There were a lot more people-"  
  
"Don't be humble, Weasley."  
  
"I'm not, I'm being honest."  
  
"So am I-" she said, but was cut short at the loud knock on the door.  
  
Shocked she and Draco stared at one another. Quickly, he ushered her behind him and slid the door open a crack before snapping it shut again. "Your brother's out there," he whispered.  
  
"So?"  
  
"You don't understand he's right outside the door. He's probably curious as to why I shut it in his face."  
  
"So? Let's just go," she murmured, unable to see as to why they were whispering. It was just Ron.  
  
"As much as I'd love to hack your brother off Weasley. I'd also like to leave this train in one piece."  
  
"Alright Mister Cunning then what do you presume we do?"  
  
Gray-eyes searched the walls landing on the low wooden-door under the vanity.  
  
"Get in here," he said, opening the door to the tiny storage cupboard.  
  
"I'm not hiding in a bloody cupboard Draco," she argued, jerking away from his outreached hand.  
  
"Well, I don't see anywhere else you could hide and besides compared to the priest's hole it looks almost roomy," he whispered.  
  
"If it's so great then why don't _you_ hide in here," she said bitterly, squatting down into the small crawl-space between a box of cleaning potions and a pile of paper-rolls.  
  
"You're shorter and will naturally fit easier," he answered smirking down at her and without another word shut the small door.  
  
The cupboard walls were thin and Ginny could easily hear the compartment door slide open.  
  
"Weasley," Draco addressed her brother icily.  
  
"Malfoy," her brother's voice answered curtly. Shuffled feet accompanied the rolling door and Ginny was prepared to plug her ears against whatever her brother planned to do when the door suddenly eased open again.  
  
"Finally we're alone," said a familiar voice. Stunned Ginny sat immobile. Why was Harry in the lav with her brother and why was he so happy that they were finally alone? Curious she pressed her ear against the door trying desperately to hear their conversation through the thin wood.  
  
"I know," Ron answered, "Where's Hermione?"  
  
"Still asleep," Harry answered. "I thought she deserved it after...everything."  
  
"You're right... Well, do you have it?"  
  
"Of course I have it," Harry answered and the sound of a zipper parting made Ginny wish she were anywhere else but stuck in that supply cupboard. Damn Malfoy for thinking this was the best place for her to hide. "Nicked it right after you left but I could only copy one of them."  
  
She strained her ears listening to the muffled sound of whatever was exchanging hands.  
  
"That's okay. This is excellent, Harry," Ron congratulated. "This should be more than enough to get the tosser convicted."  
  
Ginny held her breath trying to catch every word. Who was her brother trying to convict? And why were he and Harry discussing it in a lavatory?  
  
The quiet hiss of the locomotive brakes seemed to jostle all three of them.  
  
Ron swore. "We're almost at the station, we'll have to finish talking about this at home."  
  
"Yeah, I'll go back first so we don't look suspicious," Harry offered, taking whatever he had given Ron earlier and zipping it back up in what Ginny hoped was the pullover he was wearing before. Harry left quietly and Ron followed after leaving the lavatory silent except for the train's quiet hiss of their arrival.  
  
The bitter taste of copper assaulted her and Ginny pulled her thumb from between her teeth. She was trembling as endless unanswerable questions went streaming through her mind too frenzied to focus on but seven words did boldly stick out: What in the hell was going on?

TBC

Special Thanks to: Tegan and The Lovely Lioness for being there.  
  
And Big Thank yous to: Darcy16, Sunday-Morning, Maha, Cutemara, Mhaire-Kaida, Kristin, Airiya, Magica, WriterLady1031, infilitratetheenemyfatkid, musii, Danielle


	13. Why?

_Author's Notes: Sorry, this took so long and on top of that it is un beated so if you find any mistakes e mail me or leave it at the bottom thank you._

_Chapter 12: Why?_

_"Finally we're alone" said a familiar voice. Stunned Ginny sat immobile. Why was Harry in the lav with her brother and why was he so happy that they were finally alone? Curious she pressed her ear against the door trying desperately to hear their conversation through the thin wood._

_"I know" Ron answered"Where's Hermione"_

_"Still asleep" Harry answered. "I thought she deserved it after...everything."_

_"You're right... Well, do you have it"_

_"Of course I have it" Harry answered and the sound of a zipper parting made Ginny wish she were anywhere else but stuck in that supply cupboard. Damn Malfoy for thinking this was the best place for her to hide. "Nicked it right after you left but I could only copy one of them."_

_She strained her ears listening to the muffled sound of whatever was exchanging hands._

_"That's okay. This is excellent, Harry" Ron congratulated. "This should be more than enough to get the tosser convicted."_

_Ginny held her breath trying to catch every word. Who was her brother trying to convict? And why were he and Harry discussing it in a lavatory?_

_The quiet hiss of the locomotive brakes seemed to jostle all three of them._

_Ron swore. "We're almost at the station, we'll have to finish talking about this at home."_

_"Yeah, I'll go back first so we don't look suspicious" Harry offered, taking whatever he had given Ron earlier and zipping it back up in what Ginny hoped was the pullover he was wearing before. Harry left quietly and Ron followed after leaving the lavatory silent except for the train's quiet hiss of their arrival._

_The bitter taste of copper assaulted her and Ginny pulled her thumb from between her teeth. She was trembling as endless unanswerable questions went streaming through her mind too frenzied to focus on but seven words did boldly stick out: What in the hell was going on?_

* * *

Ginny bound out from the storage cupboard, skinning the naked skin of her knee against the wooden frame as she slipped through the sliding door. 

She needed to find Draco. She didn't know why she had the sudden compulsion to find him or why it was so imperative that she inform him of her brother and Harry's recent conversation. Reviving the fresh memory she couldn't recall hearing Draco's name used, but she ignored this observation and let her instinct drive her as she wrestled through the sea of passengers departing the train.

The cold from the compartment window seeped through the knit cotton of Ginny's yellow jumper as she flattened her body against the door of an empty compartment. The crowd had grown too thick for her to move quickly along the train and she could only close her eyes and tuck in her waist as she waited for one large and congested wave to pass. But instead of being annoyed as she normally would have been, Ginny found the sudden barricade a blessing as she desperately needed the time to think.

When she found Draco exactly what was it she was she going tell him? She wasn't positive that he was the 'tosser' Ron had wanted to convict. Knowing her brother there were a number of loose culprits who could be classified as 'tossers' and suppose even if it was Draco was she obligated to warn him. Was she supposed to be a stool pigeon and betray her own brother?

"Merlin," she breathed, taking the opportunity and weaving her way through a particularly thin spot of witches and their trunks.

Apart from her decision that she would never use this transportation service again, Ginny had only one other thing on her mind and that was that she needed to get back to her compartment, find Ron and have this sorted out.

Ginny had to duck into two more niches before the bulk of passengers had left the train filthy and bare for her to move through freely. Picking up her pace, she jogged down the empty corridor, her eyes darting from one compartment to the next as she searched for her brother or one of his companions. She was openly praying to whomever would listen that Harry, Ron and Hermione would be one of the last to leave but as she quickly approached the end of the train Ginny had a feeling she was too late.

Where in the hell are you Ron? The thought was running through Ginny's mind when her burning knee suddenly collided painfully with a wooden club being swung into the hall. Unable to catch herself and Ginny watched helplessly as the red and gold carpet rose at her rapidly and like a candle blown out the world suddenly went dark.

* * *

Ginny was aware that there was something not quite right about her rousing. Firstly, it wasn't her pillow beneath her head, Colin would never have allowed their house to wreak of disinfectant potions the way these sheets did and faint but still audible was the sound of people mumbling. Why would there be people in her room mumbling? Slowly as too not make a sound, Ginny rolled onto her back. Instantly the scene of white curtains and three familiar wizards huddled together brought a flash of memories of blood, pain and Hermione's soothing voice and Ginny knew exactly why she was here. The thought sent her hand to her nose to cover it superstitiously and she winced at the painful sensation. 

The unexpected movement must have grabbed the attention of the mumbling people because suddenly a curly haired witch and a tall redhead had broken the triangle and ascended on her sitting at the edge of her hospital bed.

"You're awake," Hermione beamed.

"Does it still hurt?" Ron asked, his eyes squinting as if he were trying to see through the cracks of her fingers.

"Should I get a nurse?" Harry asked.

He was sitting alone on a white cot, dark stains splattered across his black hooded sweatshirt. Oddly it was the first time Ginny had noticed him or the cot's presence in her small corner of the massive hospital room.

"Thank you, but that's not necessary," she said quickly.

"Take your hand away I want to see it, again," Ron said, his bright eyes still trying to see through the splits only causing Ginny to protect her nose more.

"See what?" Ginny asked, hoping that indeed it wasn't her nose but knowing different.

"Come now, Gin. Your nose of course," Ron answered.

"She's not a sideshow, Ron," Hermione berated, reaching out an arm and pushing Ron back. Her brother let out a deep sigh as he reluctantly got up from his and sat next to Harry.

"What about my nose?" Ginny asked, ignoring both of them. She knew her nose hurt, she knew it was bruised a bit, but from the way they were reacting it was as if it wasn't there at all.

"Well, it was black, blue and a blood geyser about ten minutes ago."

"I was bleeding that bad?" Ginny took her hand from her nose, examining her fingers for any coppery liquid but found nothing but the same pink fingertips.

"Yes," Ron started. "You broke your nose or at least that's what the Mediwitch and Hermione said. You did a pretty bad too. That's why Hermione ordered we come here instead of repairing it ourselves. She was afraid we might fix it wrong or something. But I think between me and Harry we could do a pretty good "

Feeling sudden waves of fear at her brother's obvious ignorance to his and Harry's abilities and gratitude for smarter minds prevailing, Ginny was compelled to turn to Hermione. "Thank you for keeping Mediwizard Weasley away from my nose."

"Hey, I'm not the one who broke it. I was just trying to fix it," Ron defended in a light voice. The sudden acknowledgment of her brother's improved mood contrasting to his sour disposition from earlier in the day struck Ginny as odd. Ron was a boy who held a grudge and now he was joking with her as if nothing had happened. She found it most peculiar.

"How exactly did it break?" Ginny asked, finding the need to move the subject along before she began to think too much on her brother's behavior.

Hermione's light brown eyes darted across the room to Harry's place on the cot beside her brother and back as if she had done it subconsciously and Harry suddenly looked very interested in the matching stains on the thigh of his jeans.

"You don't know?" Hermione asked. "We thought you would know."

"Know what?"

"Well, Harry just found you in the middle of the hall. You were unconscious, your pockets were turned out and your jumper was covered in blood. We think you might have been robbed Ginny, you really have no idea."

Ginny felt a cold fear shiver up her spine. Why would anyone want to rob her? It wasn't as if she was wearing jewelry or carrying any money, she didn't even have a money purse on her.

"Can you tell us what you last remember?" Ron asked, and Ginny could hear the serious note his voice had suddenly taken on.

"The last thing I remember is jogging down the hall looking for you lot and something hitting my leg, falling, and then " Ginny made a slight motion with her hand.

"Darkness."

Ginny sat back into her thin pillows as silence swept over the room, it appeared that everyone but herself was creating their own conclusions.

"Well, it's clear what happened," Hermione started. "The train station's elves must have been unloading the train and accidentally tossed a trunk into your way Ginny. And after they found you, they probably needed to search your pockets for identification and when finding none, they probably ran off to find an official. I'm sure it was a complete accident."

"They just tossed a piece of luggage and broke my sister's nose," Ron said. "And we're supposed to be okay with that."

"They are overworked Ron. You know that. S.P.E.W. can only do so much. We've certainly liberated "

"Ron can you fetch me a mirror," Ginny interrupted, desperate not to send Hermione into an impromptu S.P.E.W. lecture that would surely span the rest of the night.

"Absolutely," Ron said, giving her a wide grin and hopping off the cot, Ginny suppressed a giggle as she watched Harry's jealous eyes follow her brother as he

pushed open the curtain in a series of clinks and abandoned him to a chance sermon on the bigotry still prominent in the wizarding world. Hardly any time or conversation passed before her lanky brother returned, a small mirror in hand and a regretful look in his eyes but fortunately for all Hermione had exhausted herself.

Taking the handheld mirror from her brother Ginny sat up turning away from them as she examined herself. The damage hadn't been too harsh, a little bruising, but her nose seemed right, it seemed fitting to her face as it always had. She stroked the bruised bridge and suddenly something shiny caught her eye and she abandoned her own image as watched the reflections of her brother and his best friend as they sat huddled on the cot behind her.

They had left her to her own devices, confident that she would be consumed by her vanity and not look away from her bruised face but Ginny did. Curiosity would always win over vanity. It appeared they were discussing something serious, she could tell with the nodding of her brother's head and the liquid like movement of Harry's hands as if they were drawing out the plan themselves.

Ginny's eyes wandered from her brother and Harry to the curly haired witch, nose deep in a pamphlet, on the end of her bed. She couldn't help but wonder if Hermione knew, if they had opened up enough to let her in on their little scheme. But quickly she decided they probably couldn't chance Hermione having an ethical objection. No, Ginny concluded. Whatever her brother and Harry were doing, they were most likely doing it alone.

And Ginny knew confronting her brother, calling him and Harry out in front of everyone would do no one any good. Ron would simply deny it. And all she would accomplish for herself would be letting him know that she was aware of his actions.

No, she would be patient, she would watch and wait because if Ron and Harry were actually given the time to formulate a plan then they were bound to muck it up.The vow was rolling over in Ginny's mind when her attention was instantly snapped to the parting of her curtained wall. Standing between two bright mint curtains, mousy hair a mess, and tan hands tucked into his worn brown vest, was Colin Creevey.

"Welcome home, Love," he greeted, a warm smile parting his lips.

* * *

"Tired?" Colin asked, and from his shift in tone Ginny could see he wasn't altogether pleased. It came as no surprise to her as Ginny was slowly growing accustomed to people being unhappy with her. Ron, Harry and Hermione had left shortly after his arrival, with hugs and well wishes on their tongues but as Colin swung the curtains shut Ginny could feel the change in his attitude. Where he had been so light and charming in the company of her brother and friends, he was now anything but happy go lucky.

"I asked if you were tired, Gin?" He repeated, cold brown eyes staring at her as he sank onto the end of her bed.

"Of course I am," she replied lightly. "Can you believe I might have been robbed?" she quickly asked, hoping that a change in subject would bring about a change in her best friend's mood.

"Absolutely," he answered, nonchalantly smoothing the fabric of her duvet.

Surprised, Ginny felt her mouth go agape before she had composed herself. "Pardon?"

"Well, what else do you expect hanging about with Draco Malfoy? A life filled with sunshine and daisies, not even you're that naive Ginny."

"So, you think that I deserved to be clubbed and have my nose broken because I'm working with Draco Malfoy! Is that it?"

"Don't put words in my mouth, Gin. I don't blame you for a single thing but you're putting your life in danger working for that twit. You have to understand that I'm only worried about your safety."

"My safety?" she mimicked, biting into her bottom lip. "When has Draco put me in any real danger that I didn't walk into voluntarily?"

"How many times had our home been broken into before you befriended Malfoy? How many times had you landed yourself in a hospital? How many times had you gone weeks without speaking to your brother? How many times had Bill ever rowed with you?"

"How did you know about Bill?" Ginny asked, her voice softened.

"That's not important," Colin replied evenly.

"Of course it's not," Ginny whispered to herself, looking down at her bitten nails as she crushed them into her palms. "Is there anything else I should know about Colin or is your little rant over?"

"No," he answered, pushing himself off her bed but Ginny refused to follow him. "As long as you're working for Malfoy we won't give him any rest "

"We?" she asked, snapping her head up to lock eyes with her best friend.

He seemed to be momentarily surprised by her question and simply looked down at her, his eyes once again the warm brown that she had always known. He sighed once, before sitting down next to her, his small hand laying on one of her crossed knees.

"It's no secret that your brother loves you very much Ginny and he would do anything to protect you," he started, his voice both soft and serious. "It's also no secret that he hates Malfoy just as much."

* * *

Third bed on the left, is what the medi witch had confirmed at the reception desk but what she had failed to tell Draco was that the room in which Ginny Weasley was staying was absolutely freezing. However, despite the uncomfortable cold Draco repeated the confirmation in his head and slowly walked down the long aisle of dressed beds. The nauseous scent of strong medicine filled his nostrils, it was a smell that he knew would eventually bind itself to his mother replacing the jasmine perfume she had always worn, and it made him gag. He was well aware that he shouldn't have been here, he had no business visiting her, but after he'd read the letter he knew he would take his self chastising later. 

Draco had been grasping at the threads of sleep, his body taking the last plunge of relaxation when he'd been brought back to reality by a tiny voice. The room's fire had still been lit and he needn't any recovery time as he quickly glanced around his room and found the source of the frantic voice. His house elf Tink was standing by his bed, her head barely visible by its horizon but over her head, she held a small pink envelope on her pale green palm.

His first instinct had been to drown his tiny house elf and her bloody pink envelope but fortunately for Tink Draco had learned to curb such compulsions and merely snatched the letter from her hand. With finesse, he'd torn it open and read it over twice before tossing it away as he'd made his way to his wardrobe.

It had been written by an informant of his, a medi witch he had placed on his payroll to track the health of his Father but in September when Ginny Weasley had agreed to work with him he'd had her name placed on the list as well. At the time he had done it, Draco had thought it to be a foolish purchase, something he merely wanted for security, but as he approached Ginny Weasley's curtained bed, he was validated in spending the few extra galleons.

His hand was raised to the mint green curtain when the sound of a male voice stilled him. It was familiar, a high pitched sound that had grated his nerves for years when he'd attended Hogwarts.

"Well, you and Ron have anything to worry about," answered a female. Draco snatched his had away, shoving it into the deep pockets of his robe. He had recognized that voice instantly, somehow he knew he'd never be able to forget it, it was Ginny Weasley.

"Ginny," the male answered, and from its whiny tinge Draco felt he could almost see the person it belong to.

"What Colin?" she asked, obviously agitated. "I understand that my actions were foolish. I not only put myself in danger but I put my family and friends in danger as well. It was selfish and stupid and I'm not going to do it again."

Draco set his jaw as he watched the mint green curtain.

"What are you saying?" Creevey asked and from the shuffling of fabric Draco knew one of them had moved on the bed.

"I'm not going to be helping Malfoy any more," she said confidently.

Draco's stomach dropped as he curled his toes and balled his fists.

"I'm not your brother or Hermione, Ginny. I know how you felt about Malfoy. You told me yourself as if you were his Great Defender."

"He doesn't mean anything to me, Colin," she continued. "It was just a childish crush."

"And you discovered this in the last two days?" Creevey asked skeptical.

"Yes," she said bluntly. "More happened in those two days that you could possibly imagine, Colin. And Draco Malfoy, proved to me exactly what kind of person he truly is."

Draco took a soft step away from the curtain, his fists were shaking inside his robe and the world was beginning to cloud. His rational mind pleaded from him to leave but white rage was swimming through his veins and Draco both loved and feared what he knew he would do to Colin Creevey if the curtain were to be suddenly drawn back.

"I'm sorry, Gin," announced the effeminate voice behind his mint wall of protection.

"Me too," she replied and at the sound of her voice Draco knew he could stomach none of it any longer.

* * *

Ronald Weasley had been laying on his bed for an hour, staring at the poster Hermione had given him from his birthday two years ago. On a normal night he would have already taken his brightly colored cover and his pillow and fallen asleep on the floor. But tonight as the moon shone through his sheer curtains keeping his room lit, he sat awake and waiting for someone.

He wasn't startled as the door creaked open and the sound of bare feet walked across the wooden boards of his floor, and he didn't move as the mattress swayed and sunk accepting new weight.

The room was silent, not even their breathing was above a whisper and finally Ron turned on his bed to face his best friend and vocalize a thought that had been swimming inside his mind.

"She might hate us you know?"

"I know," answered Harry, his deep voice confident.

"But we have to do this," Ron continued.

"I know," he repeated.

Suddenly, a new thought crossed into Ron's mind. He could feel a smile tugging at the sides of his mouth as he sat up resting his back against his headboard and coming eye to eye with his best friend. "She might hate us, Harry, but Malfoy will have finally gotten everything he has ever deserved. The little slug will finally be paying for some of the damaged him and his family have caused the wizarding world. Hell, they'll probably throw us another parade if you think about it."

"It's going to make a lot of people happy," Harry answered, and even in the dark Ron could tell a smile had tugged at Harry's lips too.

TBC...

* * *

I'm sorry this chapter was much shorter than my previous chapters. It had been apart of a much longer chapter but after I'd read it I determined that the content must stand alone. The following chapter will be a good deal longer and I should have it uploaded in less than a week. So thank you to whoever is still reading this and I hope you enjoyed it. 


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